Recruits
by IrishCailin16
Summary: Nymphadora Tonks always wanted to be an Auror, but the past may be too painful for some to forget... Especially a certain Marauder. RT, semi-canon, semi-AU, takes place during PS.
1. Prologue

AN: Yes I'm back, yes I've got a few new stories, and yes I will be updating The New Leader soon! It might be taking a turn from the direction I initially intended to steer it in, but it will continue to be as ridiculous as ever! The updates will be irregular as I'm working/finishing off an original novel, so please be patient with me. Any queries/complaints on the matter, please feel free to PM.

So, onto the new tale: this is a story I've been planning for almost two years and finally have gotten around to writing a few chapters. Semi-canon, semi-AU, this will focus on how events could have transpired in the Potterverse if Lupin hadn't been bitten by a werewolf as a young child. (And of course I'll be taking a few liberties because I'm me :P ) Multiple POVs, with a timeline you'll really have to pay attention to.

Disclaimer: As always, Harry Potter and all canon characters belong to JKR. Anything non-Potterverse belongs to moi.

**Prologue**

**_June 23__rd__, 1991_**

The portrait of Alexandra Alvey was watching her; she was sure of it.

Tonks glared at the likeness of the former Head Auror, whose eyes were closed, a small smirk evident on her peaceful face. Every time the young witch looked away, she could see movement in her peripheral vision, as though the portrait was waving madly at her. But when she looked back, the grey-haired witch appeared the very essence of tranquility. Tonks puffed out a large breath and fought the urge to roll up the sleeves of her new navy blue robes. The cuffs were embroidered in black thread and scratchy as a troll's whiskers.

Across from her, Theodore Prewett's face was a striking shade of Flobberworm-vomit green. He'd already been sick twice; the first time he'd made it to the bathroom, but on the second he'd had to make do with the plant pot beside him. Since then the poor shrub hadn't been the same, shuddering every few minutes and leaning so far away from him that the Ravenclaw witch on the other side had a twig rammed up her nose.

Tonks scratched at her wrist for the umpteenth time before wedging her hands under her thighs. The bench was about as comfortable as a stone wall and inexplicably ice-cold despite the heat of the day outside. She'd only been sitting there for an hour and her entire bottom was numb; so numb, in fact, that she wasn't sure it was even still attached to her body. To her right, one of the girls from Beauxbatons Academy had finished filing her nails with her wand and was now sighing impatiently every thirty seconds. Her name was Irene Brisbois, and that was the extent of Tonks's knowledge about her, despite having met her the previous week on Testing Day. She'd been just as affable at that encounter.

Six minutes later (going by Irene's exhalations) the doe-eyed reception witch finally reappeared, sleek black heels clicking sharply against the dark marble floor.

"Prewett, Theodore?" she read off her clipboard. Because memorising the next name before coming over would've been too much trouble, apparently.

Theodore's head snapped up, and he stared at her as though he'd forgotten why he was there. Tonks gave him a nod of encouragement – along with a little kick to the shin – and he rose quietly to his feet, quivering like a trapped mouse. As she watched him disappear around the corner, Tonks really hoped he'd manage to keep his insides inside this time.

"And here was me thinking the competition would be tough."

Tonks groaned internally and shut her eyes, squeezing tightly. Maybe if she wished hard enough, Grayson Thistle would disappear. She popped one eye open; nope, he was still seated next to her, and he was smirking.

"No way Prewett's making it in," the dark-haired wizard scoffed, flicking a strand of lint off his robes, "he'll probably pass out the second he sees old Moody's mangled face."

"Moody won't be doing the interviews," the Ravenclaw girl – Miriam something-or-other – said, "the head Auror very rarely does. It's normally a panel of senior Aurors, who then report back to him or her."

"Shame," Grayson said, looking almost pained, "passing out in front of Scrimgeour will be a lot less dignified; he's still got most of his face."

"Stuff it, Thistle," Tonks said, praying to Merlin that his name was called next and she could finally be rid of him.

"Why?" He leaned forward, eyebrows high with mock concern. "Not feeling queasy too, are you Tonksey?"

Tonks bit her tongue so hard, her mouth filled with the metallic flavour of blood. Of all the professions in the wizarding world, Grayson Thistle had to go and choose _her_ one. She was convinced he had applied just to spite her – from their very first week at Hogwarts, they'd been what one might call arch-nemeses. If one leaned towards the dramatic side, of course. He'd called her a shapeshifting freak, she'd retaliated by squirting him in the face with undiluted Bubotuber pus, and they'd spent the next seven years openly hating one another.

Which is why his presence here made her seriously suspicious. For years he'd harped on about how he was going to take over his father's business one day – Zoom Brooms, a racing broom manufacturing company – and suddenly there he was on Testing Day, smirking at her from across the room. Being an Auror was a complicated and messy career, and his family were more than a little wealthy; they had their own box at the Quidditch World Cup for Merlin's sake! But when she asked why he was there (demanded, really), he'd just laughed and swaggered past her towards the security desk to have his wand weighed.

It's not like it could have been a spur of the moment decision for him; applying to the Auror force was a lengthy process. Professor Sprout had had to fill out at least a dozen forms – wincing a little at the question regarding the applicant's ability to blend in, but really, Tonks didn't think that was a necessary quality at all. Almost every Auror she'd ever seen made Professor Dumbledore look positively Muggle.

"Yep, reckon I don't have anything to worry about," Thistle said, stretching and linking his fingers behind his head, "Might just take a nap while I wait."

Miriam what's-her-face – who currently had a bloody handkerchief rammed up her nose – gaped at him in horror.

"You mean you're not going to review your answers? They ask really hard questions, and often they differ slightly in wording from the samples we received. You should really prepare yourself."

Thistle gave an obnoxiously loud yawn as his eyelids fluttered shut. "Nah, reckon I'll wing it. I already know I'm going to get in."

Tonks had to physically restrain her wand hand with the other to stop herself transfiguring his tongue into a turnip. If she had to spend the next three years training with him – Merlin forbid the rest of her career as well! – she might actually sacrifice herself to the giant squid. Actually, a more palatable idea would be to sacrifice Grayson to the giant squid. She shuffled in her seat, willing some feeling to return to her arse, and tried to block out the mutterings of the Ravenclaw as she repeated her answers over and over and over…

Every twenty-five minutes, the reception witch reappeared, read a new name off her shiny black clipboard, and escorted the latest applicant off around the corner. None of them returned.

"What do you reckon they're doing to them in there?" Walden Spiffingbum whispered to her, his dark face pallid and sweaty as they watched Miriam-whatsit vanish around the corner, still muttering to herself about arrest-versus-conviction success rates. Tonks could only shrug and tried to swallow, but her mouth and throat felt so parched that she spluttered and coughed instead. Ten applicants had made it through to the interview stage, mainly from Hogwarts – four from Gryffindor, two from Ravenclaw, one from Hufflepuff (Tonks) – but strangely enough, there were also three from the Beauxbatons Academy in France. Why weren't they interviewing for their own Ministry? Were the rumours about their head Auror being a bottom-pincher true? Moody definitely did not look like a bottom-pincher, but you never knew…

Walden disappeared exactly twenty-five minutes later, leaving her all alone.

"Last one standing," Tonks said out loud. Her knee kept bouncing of its own accord, causing pins and needles to shoot through her backside.

"Last one sitting, I would imagine," Alvey's portrait said brightly, before remembering she was supposed to be feigning sleep. Tonks rolled her eyes and clambered to her feet, pacing up and down the too-wide corridor. No-one outside of Ministry employees were allowed into the Auror office, so interviews were conducted at the top level of the building, a place normally reserved for meetings of Ministry officials. Unusual that the Auror office was considered more in need of discretion than the Minister's own department. She made a mental note to find out why when, or _if _-

A sickening thought hit her, with such force that she doubled over, hands braced on her shaking knees. What if she didn't make it through? She'd spent so long studying and practicing and preparing, that she hadn't even considered what would happen if she didn't. What if, after all this, she wound up pushing quills at Magical Law Enforcement instead? If sitting through N.E.W.T. level potions with Snape had been for nothing –

No! She shook her head for extra effect, as if to clear all the negativity, and straightened up, sucking in a deep breath and held it for ten seconds before exhaling. She would make it; there was no way that she wouldn't. She was prepped and ready: she had mastered every defensive spell on the DADA syllabus, she had received 'Outstanding's in every N.E.W.T bar Charms – her cacti had danced the tango together instead of the cha-cha – and even then she'd scored an 'Exceeds Expectations'. She had successfully irritated Professor Snape with her flawless concoctions to the point that he had forgotten to set her class homework. _Twice._ She could do this. She was ready.

"Tonks, Nymphadora?"

The reception witch was two feet away, gazing at her with those huge eyes. She hadn't even heard her coming – not a good start for a would-be Auror. She shook feeling back into her hands, ignoring the snickers of "Nympha-WHAT?" from Alvey's portrait and followed the clickety-clack of the witch's heels, willing herself to remain calm. If nothing else, she was finally going to discover what was around that bloody corner…

Another corridor.

The reception witch trotted forward a few steps, halting in front of the third door on the right and laid a hand on the knob, turning to give her an encouraging smile. Tonks took another deep breath and nodded, morphing some colour into her cheeks as the door swung open.


	2. Decisions While Dining

**AN:** Many thanks and a Butterbeer toast to _**Feluriana**_ for giving me a lovely first review

This next chapter was a lot like _The Return of the King_ (extended edition, naturally) – just when I thought it was finished, it really wasn't. A menace to write, but hopefully not to read – enjoy!

**Chapter One**

Inside the cavernous chamber – which resembled the hallway through which she'd come in its excessive use of black marble and uncomfortable-looking furniture – sat two men and one woman behind a long wooden table. The woman appeared to be in her mid-forties, with flawless skin the colour of that dark chocolate cocoa Tonks's mum was so fond of. The man on the right looked to be the youngest of the lot, with light brown hair and pale skin. He seemed oddly familiar, but she quickly forgot her attempt to place him when she locked eyes (or rather, eye) with the imposing figure sitting in the middle. Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody, Head Auror, was scribbling something on a piece of parchment, one beady eye fixed on it while the other stared openly at her. So Moody was doing the interviews after all; Miriam must've had a conniption at the sight of him.

Tonks paused just inside the door, unsure if she should take a seat in the empty chair opposite them. Were they ready for her or not? As if hearing her thoughts, Moody's head snapped up and his human eye narrowed.

"Well don't just stand there gawping, girl," he barked and Tonks stumbled across the room, smashing her elbow into the arm of the chair as she dropped into it. Moody raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment on her ungainliness as he folded his parchment roughly and held it over his shoulder. The reception witch appeared behind him, snatched it up and left, winking at Tonks as she went.

"Nymphadora Tonks is it?" Moody said, once the door closed behind her.

"Just Tonks, sir," Tonks replied quickly. Better to get that part out of the way _tout suite_. The woman beside Moody made an amused sound and leaned back in her seat, reviewing Tonks over a pair of winged spectacles.

"So, you want to be an Auror?" Moody said, his magical eye remaining fixed on her as his human one roved over her paperwork.

No introductions then?

"Yes sir," Tonks replied, sitting up straighter her chair. She was ready for whatever they threw at her.

"Why?" asked Moody.

Not quite ready for that.

"What? I mean, excuse me?" she replied, confused.

Moody snorted, dropping his quill onto the desk. It sprang up almost immediately, and began to write on its own, moving much faster than Tonks's mind was. "Why do you want to be an Auror?"

"Well, it should be in my file – "

"I don't want to read it in your file, girl!" Moody said, both of his eyes now trained on her, "I want to hear it from you."

Tonks tried to breathe evenly, but having three pairs of eyes fixed on her was making her nervous. She suddenly had the utmost respect for any suspect who'd ever dared lie to Moody. And just what was that damn quill writing?

"Well, I want to make a difference in –"

"But why an auror?" the woman interrupted, crossing her arms, "there are plenty of less dangerous careers someone with your intelligence and skill could pursue. The Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, if you want to, shall we say, _fight crime_, or –" She paused, peering down at a parchment over her spectacles, "I see you took Care of Magical Creatures at NEWT level; why not apply to the RCMC?"

The tightness in Tonks's chest dissipated, being swiftly replaced by an altogether more bearable sensation: anger. What were they trying to do, get her to quit before she'd even started? She wasn't a quitter, and she wouldn't let them turn her into one. She was going to be an Auror, and that was that.

"I don't want to spend my days irritating centaurs and prosecuting werewolves who haven't hurt anyone," she said evenly, "I want to catch dark wizards and send them to Azkaban, where they belong. I want to help stop all the terror and prejudice and pure-blood bullshit they've been spreading since the days of You-Know-Who. Witches are witches and wizards are wizards, no matter who your parents are."

Silence descended, and Tonks chewed her lip. She'd gone too far, said too much (blimey, had she _cursed _in an _interview_? Forget Auror training – they'd lock her up in St. Mungo's). The pale man leaned forward, and she was grateful for an excuse to look away from Moody, turning to inspect him properly for the first time. He was younger than she had initially thought, perhaps not even thirty. A long, faint scar spread across his face, from right eyebrow to left cheek, as though something had slashed through the skin. She went rigid in her chair; she knew exactly who he was. His hair was much shorter, but it was definitely him.

Remus Lupin – youngest Auror to advance to a senior position in the squad in over two hundred years.

She had never seen him in person before, only in the black and white pictures of _The_ _Daily Prophet_, hauling suspects out of Knockturn Alley or standing next to Moody at press briefings. His capture rate was remarkable for someone so young, and she wondered idly if Miriam had quoted his own stats at him. There were also rumours that he was also Harry Potter's guardian, but since no-one had set eyes on the boy since Halloween night '81 – Dumbledore's doing, her father thought – that was little more than hearsay.

He was taller than she'd imagined...and right now he was staring at her intently. She resisted the urge to scrub at her face with a scratchy sleeve – had she splattered ink on herself again?

Eventually, Lupin sat back in his seat again, his eyes twinkling."Now I know why you insisted on interviewing this one personally, Alastor."

Tonks tried to control her face, but her shock must have been obvious. Had Moody not interviewed the others after all? Was she the only one? Her heart began to pound, as though a bludger had replaced it and was hammering to escape her ribcage. Why would he want to interview her personally?

The Head Auror swivelled his head to stare at his colleague, apparently puzzled. Lupin smiled broadly, far more relaxed than anyone should be sitting that close to Moody. "She's exactly like you."

Tonks wasn't sure who seemed more offended by that statement; Moody or herself.

"Thank you for that incredibly insightful observation, _Lupin_," Moody gritted through clenched teeth, while the woman sniggered into her hand, "Can we proceed?"

Lupin held his hands up in mock surrender, but his expression remained playful. "So, Ms Tonks," he said, smiling brightly as he turned back to her, "what are your thoughts on the current regulations governing first-time offenders?"

* * *

She shouldn't have ordered the pea soup – it kept rocking the bowl from side to side, at one point even leaping from the spoon to bite her on the nose. Appetite gone, she shoved the bowl aside. On the opposite side of the table, her father chewed his last bite of pheasant pie, his translucent eyes concerned. Tonks sometimes wished she'd inherited his light blue irises rather than the trademark black ones she'd received from her mother's side of the family. She preferred to forget she was related to the whole psychotic lot of them.

"You still haven't told me what happened," Ted said after a few minutes, pouring them both another cup of tea. Tonks accepted the cup gratefully, nestling it between her hands. She still hadn't shaken the chill she'd acquired at the Ministry, and exhaustion was starting to set in.

"Because honestly, I don't know how it went," Tonks said.

And she didn't. After her disastrous opening, she'd managed to answer all of their questions with decent enough answers, somehow remembering all the facts, figures and examples she'd been squirreling away for months. Both Lupin and the woman – who she later learned was Mimsy Pickersgill, Wizard Rights Liason to the Auror Unit – had been openly impressed, while Moody had given the occasional _harrumph_, which appeared to be his version of approval. She even made them laugh at one point with an anecdote about goblins, ghouls, and a Muggle hair-dryer. But just as she had begun to breathe normally again, and allowed the sensation of triumph that had been steadily rising through her a little more freedom, the interview took a bewildering turn.

_"You wrote in your application that you already possess advanced skills in Concealment and Disguise?" Mimsy Pickersgill looked doubtful, her eyes scanning Tonks's navy blue hair. "Do you mind me asking how you acquired these skills?"_

_Tonks responded by scrunching up her face and morphing into Pickersgill, inwardly delighting in the look of astonishment on the woman's face._

_ "You're a metamorphmagus," Pickersgill said, sliding her glasses up and down her nose, as though a different perspective might alter Tonks's appearance. _

_Noting gleefully that Moody looked impressed, Tonks slid her eyes sideways to check Lupin's reaction and abruptly felt her stomach plummet to somewhere very near her shoes. He was staring alright, but not at her; at Moody – who seemed to be deliberately avoiding his gaze – and although his face was impassive, fury positively radiated from him. Had she missed something while she was morphing? Or did Lupin have a problem with metamorphmagi? She'd endured more than a little mockery at Hogwarts – some gentle, some extremely vicious – but it seemed unlikely that Lupin had ever met one before now, considering how rare they were. _

_After a very long moment, the man in question turned to face her, resting his folded hands on the table. His knuckles were white, skin straining over the bone as the fingers of his right hand clenched his left. _

_ "_Tonks_," he said, his voice quiet and deliberate, as though he was trying to reign in some emotion, "I didn't think about it at first, but it's a very unusual name, isn't it?"_

_Perhaps Lupin's special skill was confusing criminals with peculiar observations. "I think so," Tonks replied, shifting her appearance back to her previous one. "My dad's muggle-born."_

_ "Ted Tonks?"_

_His tone was conversational, but his gaze on her was too fixed; too intense, and it looked as though he was having trouble swallowing. Even Pickersgill had finally torn her eyes away from Tonks to look at him askance. _

_ "That's right," Tonks said, linking her fingers together to stop herself from fidgeting. She hoped this wasn't going where she thought it was…_

_ "And your mother is Andromeda? Andromeda Black?"_

_This time her stomach made it well past her ankles, and possibly out of her body entirely. There it was; the association she'd tried so hard to avoid. Even though her aunt had changed her name when she married Rodolphus Lestrange, everyone remembered that she had been a Black. All the awful things Bellatrix had done – including torturing two Aurors to the point of insanity – would forever be linked to Tonks and her family. She stared at Moody's quill, hovering a few inches above his scarred wrist, and felt misery rise in her throat. They had never even considered accepting her, had they? They'd just dragged her in to gawk at her for their own amusement; Bellatrix Lestrange's niece, trying to fit in where she doesn't belong. How they must have laughed when they received her application. _

_She should have known, so many people had tried to warn her: her mother, her friends, even Professor Sprout had expressed concern over her choice to pursue a career as an Auror. Would the Auror squad trust her given the kind of family she stemmed from? Would they always be on the look-out for signs of pure-blood insanity? _

_She blinked hard, willing the tears to stay in until she could be alone. She wasn't about to fall apart in front of them._

_ "If this is about my mother's sister," she said, her voice unexpectedly steady, "I'd rather you just came out and said it, instead of wasting my time and your own. I don't appreciate being mocked."_

_Lupin's mouth twitched upwards, so quickly she wasn't even sure it had happened. "Actually, it's not. Your mother ran from her family and as good as painted a target across her back when she married your father. I have the utmost respect for her."_

_What? Tonks stared at him, but he said no more, leaning back in his chair again and gesturing for Moody to continue, which the old Auror did without hesitation._

_ "Right then, if –"_

_ "Hang on," Tonks interrupted, barely able to hear her own voice over the pounding of her heartbeat, "You mean you don't care that Bellatrix is my aunt?"_

_Moody snorted loudly, which seemed to offend Mimsy Pickersgill, who shuddered and wrapped her robes more tightly around herself. "Considering how much the psychotic bitch hates your mother, I hadn't suspected you of being her protégé." He raised his eyebrows, sarcasm dripping from his tone as he asked, "Why, should I have?"_

_ "No, sir," Tonks replied, unable to stop the smile that was threatening to split her cheeks open, "Definitely not."_

_Moody grunted and continued with a flurry of questions about her potion-making abilities, which she answered with renewed hope and vigour. But for the remaining ten minutes, she couldn't stop her eyes from flicking over Lupin's closed-off expression, and wondering why, even as she got up to leave, he could barely look at her. _

"Nymphadora?" Her father was waving a hand in front of her face. "Anyone at home, luv?"

She shook her head like a wet dog, trying to dispel the memory. Dwelling on it certainly would not help; she'd get her answer from the Ministry in a few days. "Sorry Dad. What did you say?"

"I asked if you think it went well?"

His eyes were wide and blatantly hopeful. While her mother, Andromeda, had objected more than a little to her applying to the Auror Office, her father had been more excited about her interview than Tonks had. He'd never been the type to lose his appetite – even when he'd been laid up with elfin flu for three weeks the previous summer, he'd eaten at least two square meals a day – but last night he couldn't do more than push his food around his plate with his fork until her mother chastised him for reconstructing the Hogwarts Astronomy Tower out of roast potatoes.

"I don't know," Tonks said, "It's difficult to know what they're looking for, I suppose."

Ted made a noise of disbelief and waved his hand, as though dispelling a swarm of Nargles around his head. "Nonsense – nobody could be more qualified than my girl! You'll see."

"I don't know about that." Tonks grimaced, looking back into the fire. "According to Miriam you need a unanimous vote from the panel, and Lupin didn't seem to take to me at all."

"Remus Lupin was on the panel?"

She nodded and continued staring into the flames. She'd always found fire oddly comforting, which she supposed could be conceived as odd by other people, considering its destructive nature. But she often felt it was a little like her and her metamorphmagic abilities; chaotic but contained.

She was so engrossed in it that it was several moments before she realised her normally loquacious father had become suspiciously subdued. Tearing her eyes away from the orange glare, she found him staring intently at his cup, which was a rather boring off-white colour. She leaned forward and poked him on the arm.

"What is it?"

He looked up. "Hmm?"

"Why would it matter if Lupin was on the panel?"

Ted shrugged, picking up spoon and stirring the dregs in his cup. "It wouldn't. Shall we order dessert? I've heard the chocolate pudding is –"

"Dad, you're an awful liar," Tonks interrupted. She rested her forearms on the table. "Do you know something I don't?"

Ted sighed, sliding his cup and saucer away from his fidgeting hands. "It might be nothing –"

"Or it might be something?"

Ted smiled, or at least attempted to; his mouth seemed to resist the idea. "It's just that…well, Lupin... he might associate you with memories that are somewhat unpleasant." He cleared his throat, glancing behind him. "Extremely unpleasant, actually."

Tonks was even more confused. "How? I only met him today."

"I know, but…"

Ted scratched at his ear, more sombre than she could ever remember seeing him, and the next words out of his mouth explained why.

"Lupin was best friends with Lily and James Potter…and with Sirius."

No.

"I only met him – Remus – once or twice, when they were teenagers," her father continued, his words rushing together, as though if he paused he wouldn't be able to finish. "They were thick as thieves, the lot of them; always pulling pranks, sneaking around the castle at night, spending their weekends in detention. And after they graduated it was the same; they all went to live in Godric's Hollow, and when Sirius would come to visit us he'd have us in fits with his stories about run-ins with their neighbours and his and Remus's attempts to find Peter a girlfriend. But after Sirius, well, did what he did…" Here he did stop for a moment, closing his eyes briefly, as though the memory was excruciating for him, which Tonks knew it to be. "Remus, well, as far as I know he didn't have much family, aside from his parents, so…"

Tonks didn't need him to finish. She remembered the day they'd heard the news all too clearly, the day her world had shattered into tiny pieces that could never be _Reparo_-ed. Her cousin, the young man who made her laugh until tears streamed down her face, who secretly taught her how to ride a broom and brought her for ice-cream every time he visited was gone. And in his place was a stranger who betrayed his friends and murdered Muggles for sport – who chose darkness and death over life. He'd devastated her parents, and her, but she'd assumed they had taken the brunt of the agony; that all of Sirus's closest friends were now dead.

She wanted to kick herself. How had she not realised that if Lupin had been friends with James Potter, he must've known Sirius too? How had she not realised that Sirius was the one Lupin pictured when he looked at her, not Bellatrix? Just because she had promised herself long ago to never think of Sirius again, didn't mean that everyone else had. She wanted to faceplant into the pea soup, but decided that getting angry was a far more palatable option.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she said, her voice shaking as she glared at Ted, "Didn't you think I deserved to know that before I went in there?"

Ted looked stunned. "Your mother and I didn't think Lupin would be involved in the interview process," he whispered, "And we didn't want to upset you."

"Upset me?" Tonks could see the hags in the corner turn their heads curiously as her voice rose but she didn't care. She felt more nauseous than she'd ever been in her life – aside from the morning after she and Charlie Weasley had tried Firewhiskey for the first time – and with every moment the sensation was turning her insides more and more twisted and contorted.

What must Lupin think of her? Strutting in there, interviewing for a position in the squad that had locked up half her looney family must've looked incredible enough, but to think that he'd lost everything because of her cousin...he wouldn't want anything to do with her at all.

She'd always known she would have to prove herself to the Auror Office, considering her lineage, but had reasoned that it would be okay. Once they saw how dedicated she was, how talented at duelling and interrogating (she'd been practicing the former on her roommates and the latter on her owl, Benny), how convinced she was that this was the only thing she wanted to do with her life, they would have finally forgotten where she came from and accepted her as one of their own. But, how could she possibly prove herself to Lupin? She couldn't.

"It doesn't matter who you're related to, Dora," her father said, interrupting the commotion inside her head, "you were just a child when it happened."

"It'll matter to him!" Thinking back, she had a very vague memory of meeting Sirius's friends once, when she was about four or five; a group of witty and welcoming young men who'd reduced her to hysterics with their impressions of Hogwarts professors she would one day meet. _We're like brothers_, Sirius had told her later, _more than Regulus has ever been to me. There's nothing I wouldn't do for them._

He'd been so convincing, how could she have known it was all a lie; how could anyone? That he was possibly planning their deaths with You-Know-Who… She shook her head, driving the black-haired young man from her mind. He'd destroyed her happiness for a second time, and from behind bars! Shoving her chair back roughly so it scraped across the flagstone floor, she got to her feet.

"Where are you going?" Ted asked, rising also.

"I need some air." Tonks fastened her cloak around her shoulders, fingers fumbling over the clasp. "I'll see you at home."

He started to say something, but the words died on their way past his lips. Instead, he nodded and let her go.

The street outside the Leaky Cauldron was thronged with Muggle shoppers: groups of laughing teenagers strolled leisurely past haggard looking businesspeople, while families enjoying a day in the city milled around, investigating the infinite array of restaurants and ice-cream parlours. No-one spared a second glance for the navy-blue-haired girl with tears in her eyes.

* * *

Remus stared blankly at the pot labelled 'Stew of the Day.' It was apparently Guinness and Beef, but his nose told him a different story entirely, and this was _really_ not the day to be trying horse meat for the first time. Instead, he chose a rather unusual-looking vegetable soup and mollified himself by taking three bread rolls, an obnoxiously large slice of chocolate cake and, as an afterthought, two small pears. Nodding to a wizard from Muggle Liaison Office, whose name he thought might be Woodbeard, he absentmindedly waved his wand over his food in a sequence of Poison Detection spells. He'd initially thought Moody overtly paranoid for doing it but now, after more than ten years as an Auror, it seemed completely sane. Speaking of his boss, he wondered when…

Just as that thought passed through his mind, he heard the – by now very familiar – _thump thump thump _approaching behind him. Clenching his jaw, he moved along the counter, pretending to inspect the battered-looking yoghurt pots.

"Nice to see you're sticking to a balanced diet."

Remus barely glanced at his boss. "Give me one good reason not to dump this over your head."

Moody gave a loud snort. "I'm not planning on washing my hair until Tuesday."

Rolling his eyes, Remus moved along again, popping a tea-bag into a small, magically refilling pot of water. "Would it honestly have killed you to warn me?"

The old Auror looked incensed. "I _have_ warned you, at least three hundred times, never to eat food you haven't prepared yourself; minimises the likelihood of a dark wizard seasoning your carrots with one of the Undetectable –"

"Not that, Mad-Eye," Remus said, cutting off the beginnings of a lecture he'd heard far too many times over the years, "I meant about Nymphadora Tonks."

Moody paused, his magical eye spinning after a witch walked past a little too close to them, causing her to scuttle away as quickly as she could, sloshing coffee down her blouse.

"Did you think I wouldn't figure out who she was eventually?"

"Honestly I was surprised it took you so long," Moody replied, quirking an eyebrow. "I wanted you to make an unbiased opinion of her, lad. And you never would've agreed to an interview with her if you'd known."

"No, I certainly wouldn't have," Remus said, turning to search for a clean teacup – which were rarer than hen's teeth in this place – trying to keep his anger in check. He knew Moody hadn't meant to upset him – for all the man's tactlessness and general lack of sympathy for those who were not vigilant every waking minute, he knew what that Halloween night had done to Remus. He glanced back at his mentor, who was now examining a slice of apple and custard tart with as much suspicion as one would normally reserve for a vampire drooling beside one's neck. He loved a good prank – probably a lot more than the next person – but this one was now sailing very close to the wind.

Each year, Moody liked to throw in a fake applicant to the Auror programme, claiming it was in the interest of keeping them on their toes (Remus personally thought he enjoyed watching them dance for him). Sometimes it was obvious – such as the year a centaur had turned up for an interview and was horrified to learn that only witches and wizards could be accepted into the Auror force. Remus was glad he hadn't been on the panel that year; Savage had walked funny for a week after it.

Other years it had been less apparent – applicants who lied about their abilities or experience, and even a few who were Polyjuiced or using illusion charms; the most memorable of the latter being in '88, when Moody went in disguised as a seventeen-year-old Welsh girl named Alison. It had always been a bit of fun, a challenge, and often bets were taken on who would figure it out first. Remus didn't begrudge Moody his bit of fun – Merlin knew he didn't get to have much in his job. And even though he'd initially been furious with the man, he decided to just let it go.

"Well, the joke's up, you've had your fun," Remus said, "I should've known the decoy would be someone special this year, what with Harry starting at Hogwarts."

Surprisingly, Moody didn't respond, instead stomping silently after him, waiting a little too patiently while he paid the elf – a lovely, semi-toothless old lady named Minty – and following him to a table near the back of the room (Moody refused to sit beside windows or doorways).

"Where's the boy today?" Moody asked, reaching into his pocket and extracting a pocket sneakoscope. He frowned, prodded it with his wand and waited for a response, which did not happen.

"He's gone to the zoo with his aunt and uncle for Dudley's birthday." Remus grimaced, both at the thought and the taste of his soup. "He was not at all pleased that I had to work today, but I've promised to take him out for pizza tomorrow to recuperate."

Moody gave a _harrumph _and continued to poke at the sneakoscope with his wand, while Remus forced himself to take another swallow of soup. It was only four o'clock, but he felt as though he could happily fall asleep, face-down in his chocolate cake. Unfortunately, the stack of paperwork on his desk was rapidly growing upwards by the hour, and he still had to decide which of the new applicants he wanted to back. He dipped a bread roll into the mixture and chewed, mentally reviewing those he'd seen that morning. The Thistle kid seemed arrogant, but had first rate transfiguration skills; Spiffingbum had been extremely nervous, but confident in his abilities…

It was several moments before he realised Moody had put his trinket away and was staring at him. With both eyes.

"What?"

Moody cleared his throat. "She wasn't a joke applicant, lad."

Attempting to swallow at that particular moment was a bad idea; Remus choked on his mouthful of soup, coughing and spluttering as the salty mixture irritated his throat. Moody leapt to his feet, pulling a bezoar from his trouser pocket and seized him by the shoulder, ready to cram it into his mouth. Remus shoved him off, trying to steady his breathing as he gestured to his throat.

"I'm –" _Cough _"Fine –" _Cough _"Wrong way –"

Moody continued to hover, arms and legs spread in some kind of battle stance, bezoar held at shoulder height. Remus rolled his eyes and grabbed his cup, knocking back the contents and burning his tongue in the process. After a long minute, the old Auror finally accepted that he was not at Death's door, and returned to his seat.

"You're really trying hard to rattle me today," Remus said, giving a final cough as he poured himself a fresh cup of tea.

"Shocking news is no excuse for not chewing your food," Moody retorted, "If it was, I'd have died twenty times over during the war. Anyway," He crossed his arms over his broad chest "- back to the Tonks girl."

Remus stared at his old mentor for a second, before shaking his head and returning to his 'lunch'. "Enough, Alastor," he said, tearing his second bread roll in half, simply for something to do with his hands. Why wasn't Moody letting this go?

"I'm not pissing around with you here, lad," the older man said. "She's one of the best I've seen in a long time. I want her on the team."

A Jelly-Legs jinx from an eleven-year-old could've taken Remus down in the wake of that sentence. Moody was genuinely serious about this; he actually wanted her in the programme.

His first thought was that his boss had been replaced by an imposter, but they'd gone through the daily round of codewords and security questions that Moody insisted on that morning, and he'd passed them all.

His second thought was coercion; was Moody being blackmailed? That seemed about as likely as Severus Snape sending Remus a Christmas card.

So, that just left…

"No."

"Yes."

"You need a full house," Remus said, "three yes's from the panel –"

"Pickersgill has said yes already."

"Pickersgill is easily impressed. I haven't said yes, and I won't."

Moody inhaled deeply, blowing the air back out through his nostrils. "You're not seeing the bigger picture here, Lupin."

"No, that is exactly what I am seeing. Her whole family are as dark as their name. She's _his _cousin, for Merlin's sake!"

"I know who her family are. But it doesn't change the fact that she's the strongest applicant out of the whole lot – and she's a metamorphmagus."

Remus smirked, devoid of any mirth. "So, what, you want her on board so you can get one up over the Italian Auror Office? A more exotic magical being on the force?"

Moody growled low in his throat, his nostrils flaring. "You know me better than that, Lupin."

"I thought I did." Remus could hear his voice rising, but he didn't care. "I also assumed you gave a damn about my opinion; how wrong can one man be?"

Moody's fist slammed down on the table, upsetting the bowl of soup. Neither of them spared it a glance as congealed green mush slid slowly down the table leg. For a moment, Remus thought the other man was going to storm out – hopefully taking this insane conversation with him – but he remained where he was, seething silently. Remus watched him for a few seconds, then looked away towards the food counter again. Maybe he should've chosen the horse-meat stew after all; he was starving…

"You know I trust you more than most of the shiteheads in this place."

_That _he had not been expecting. He knew that Moody liked him, in his own particular way, but the older man detested emotional utterances and open displays of affection. Telling Remus he trusted him was akin to telling him he'd take an Unforgiveable for him. He felt a lump rise in his throat, and cleared it quickly.

"I know you do, Alastor," he said, softly, "So, please, trust me on this."

"I can't, lad." Moody said, "You're far too close to it; you're thinking emotionally, not logically."

"Yes I am, and I'll explain my logical reasons. Firstly, Andromeda was the one member of his family that Black was close to."

"Andromeda Tonks and her husband were cleared of all suspicion; you said yourself that she's made herself a target."

"Yes, but we've been wrong before. I thought Sirius had left the Black way of life when he ran away, and look what happened there. Who's to say Andromeda wasn't turned by him before he was locked up?"

"You were his friend; should I suspect you of plotting with the forces of darkness, too?"

Remus frowned, but continued. "Secondly, he was close to Nymphadora; he babysat her all the time. She might be out for revenge for his incarceration or –"

"You liked her for the job before you knew who she was," Moody interrupted.

"True, but I also liked Alison before I realised she was a middle-aged lunatic in stilettos," Remus retorted, "First impressions can be deceiving."

Moody bristled, his magical eye spinning every which way. "Don't say middle-aged too loud in here," he muttered, "They'll start after me to retire. As far as they all know, I'm still in my thirties."

"Alastor, no-one thinks you're in your thirties," Remus said, throwing up his hands, "_I'm _in my thirties."

The older man muttered something about looking young for his age and continued to glance around fervently.

"You know what you're asking of me with this?" Remus said. "You want me to teach and train someone who could potentially betray us?"

Moody surveyed him for a moment. "I've been at this a long time, lad; she's not the sort. And you know – better than most, I'd reckon – what prejudices and assumptions could do to a person."

That was a low-blow, and they both knew it. They rarely spoke about Remus's affliction, and never openly; it was all subtext and oral code – never write down anything that could ruin your life, Moody always said. Remus would be eternally grateful for the chance the man had granted him in the aftermath of the attack that changed his life, permanently. And while he didn't think this was the same sort of situation at all, it was obvious that Moody did. Things were more black and white in his head.

"You really do think she's different," Remus said. It wasn't a question, but Moody treated it as such anyway.

"I do. Come on, lad – you're supposed to be the optimist here! Shouldn't you be the one telling me to give her a chance, not the other way round?"

"Well, I guess I'm having an off day."

There was silence for several minutes.

"What was it?" Moody asked suddenly.

"Sorry?"

"That clued you in to who she was? You didn't remember the name – though how you could forget it is anyone's guess." His human eye narrowed. "Maybe you should go see a Healer, make sure you haven't been Obliviated without your knowing."

Remus chose to ignore that, not wanting to be the one to point out how often Alastor forgot where he'd left his favourite quill.

"It was the morphing. I remember seeing her do it once when she was a toddler, during the summer holidays after fifth year. It was a few weeks after, well, you know –" Moody nodded, "Sirius was minding her for the day and dragged me along – I suppose he thought it'd take my mind off of things, and in a way, I guess it worked; you couldn't exactly focus on much else when you had a screaming child on your hands. She was upset because her mother had forced her into some scratchy frock with these big pink rosebuds on it, and she hated it. We were debating changing her clothes, but that was around the time that that bloke from the Improper Use of Magic Office was ousted as a paedophile, and their nosy neighbour kept peering over the fence every ten minutes, so we didn't think it a good idea.

Anyway, we tried everything to distract her, but nothing worked. Sirius had a bright pink cushion over his face at this stage – I think he was trying to smother himself – and I was exhausted from the stress of the previous month, and I snapped. I told her that I found pink to be a rather fetching colour, and that I didn't know what she was complaining about, since I'd happily wear it. And then I nicked the cushion from Sirius and put it on top of my head, like a hat. She just blinked up at me for a minute, her big eyes full of tears, and then her hair suddenly turned bright pink. And for the rest of the afternoon, we had to walk around with pink cushions tied to our heads, or she'd start crying all over again."

He stopped, unsure why he'd shared that. Moody watched him for a moment, his expression unreadable, and when he spoke, his voice was uncharacteristically soft.

"She's not him, Remus."

Despite the conversation they were having, Remus huffed in amusement.

"What?" Moody said.

"You used my first name. I wasn't sure you actually knew it."

Moody presented him with a glare that seemed distinctly half-hearted, and gave a low chuckle. "So, what do you say?"

"Honestly?" Remus sighed, wishing more than anything that Nymphadora Tonks had chosen a different career. "I don't know. How can I possibly decide this?"

"The decisions don't need to be in until Monday morning." Noting Remus's expression, Moody sighed and climbed heavily to his feet. "Just promise you'll think about it – really think about it – before you make your final choice."

"I promise."

"That's all I ask." Clapping Remus on the shoulder, he stomped off, pausing to bark at two witches for wearing robes that were too brightly coloured as he went. The younger wizard brightened for a moment as a mischievous thought struck him.

"Oh, Alastor?" The older man turned back, and Remus adopted a mock-serious expression. "Just so you know, you really shouldn't tell people when you're planning on washing your hair – you never know what they could put in the shampoo bottle."

The man's eyes bulged, and he all but sprinted from the room, no doubt anticipating the discovery of a dark wizard in his bathroom cabinet. Remus sniggered at the thought, but all too soon thoughts of his predicament drove every trace of humour from his face. Waving his wand to clean up the liquid vegetable gunge that was now creeping its way towards his shoes, he rested his chin on his other hand, and tried to think. It was no use. Bugger the pile of paperwork; he needed a stiff drink.

Wrapping his cake up in a napkin, he strode off in search of a bald-headed Auror with a penchant for Firewhiskey.


	3. The Boy Who Vanished The Glass

**AN:** So, it's been waaaaaay too long since my last update. I have been writing this fic on and off over the past year (while doing an INSANE university course), but the following chapter gave me mucho grief, and has now wound up far longer than I intended it. But oh well, on with the show!

Many thanks to my lovely reviewers You brighten up the rainy Irish days – of which there are many.

**Chapter Two**

**_The Boy who Vanished the Glass_**

**_June 23__rd__, 1991. 1pm._**

It seemed impossible that a more annoying person existed than Dudley Dursley.

Harry watched as his cousin rapped hard on the glass surrounding the snake enclosure with his thick knuckles, the sound echoing down the corridor.

"Move!" Dudley bellowed, slamming his sizeable fist against the glass for the fifth time. The snake didn't budge, almost as if it refused to reward a tantrum. Harry had to admire a snake with standards.

His cousin quickly became bored, and moved on to yell at another reptile, aided and abetted by his friend, Piers Polkiss. Remus often mused that Piers was excellent sidekick material, being unpleasant enough to share in Dudley's love of humiliating others, but too weak to pose a threat to the latter's position as leader of the pack. Harry mused that his cousin just liked the other boy's knack for pinning people's arms behind their backs.

Keeping Dudley in his peripheral vision – as was often safest – Harry moved closer to the boa constrictor, who still hadn't moved or even opened its eyes. He sighed, and leaned on the railing in front of the glass, tugging on the sleeves of his navy blue jumper – an unexpected gift from Remus. He wished his godfather hadn't had to work that morning, meaning that Harry had to accompany the Dursleys and Piers to the zoo to celebrate "Dudley's special day." Uncle Vernon's eyes had very nearly popped out of his head when the telephone call came, but surprisingly he hadn't done more than make odd choking sounds and mutter incoherently under his breath. For some reason, Remus was the only person his uncle would ever yield to.

"Are you sure you don't mind going?" Remus had asked Harry, "Would you like me to arrange for someone to come over and stay with you instead? Mrs. Figg, perhaps?"

Harry shook his head, before copping that Remus couldn't actually see him through the receiver. "No, it's okay. I don't mind, honestly."

The truth was that he did mind – he relished the time he spent with his godfather, and hated spending more minutes in the Dursleys' company than he ever had to. They barely tried to conceal their dislike of him, and Dudley savoured any and every opportunity to pick on him. But he knew Remus's job was important – not that he knew exactly what it was the man did for a living. His godfather told him it was detective work, of sorts, but never divulged more than that. Harry initially thought he might have worked for the Met, but the amount of time his godfather spent travelling caused him to swiftly dismiss that notion. Plus, Remus's colleagues were very strange people; his boss was a hulking figure who walked with a limp and always wore a cap pulled down over one eye, while his partner, Kingsley, always had jars of unusual ingredients tucked into his coat pockets. Harry had found these fascinating as a young child, but once he discovered one filled with what looked suspiciously like eyeballs, he became a little less curious and a little more concerned about what exactly his godfather did every day.

As he got older, Harry began to speculate that their work must have been less conventional, and more James Bond-style, 'Special Branch' stuff. The sort that was always life or death on the telly. And if Remus had a job that was _that _important, Harry had no right to sulk over a postponed day out with his godfather. So, he pretended to be okay with the impending zoo visit, and wished Remus a pleasant day at work with as much cheer as he could muster.

But Remus, as usual, saw right through him, because a moment later he said, "How about I come by tomorrow morning instead and take you out for the day? You can stay over at mine for the night if you like; I have Monday off work."

Harry had almost done a dance at this (but restrained himself as Aunt Petunia was peering down at him over the banister). He'd stayed over at Remus's dozens of times, but the thought of it never failed to produce a reaction akin to deliria.

When he was much younger, Harry had routinely asked why he couldn't live with Remus; the Dursleys were the very epitome of unpleasant, and he had a feeling they would have been even worse if his godfather hadn't been a constant presence in their house and their lives. Remus was technically his guardian – the person Harry's parents had _chosen _to take care of their son if anything bad happened to them – so what was the issue? It had all seemed rather black and white to Harry.

Yet, every time he asked, Remus had hugged him close and told him he wished it were possible, but his job kept him away a lot – some nights he didn't get home at all. Harry thought this was a silly reason – Mrs. Figg sometimes took care of him when Aunt Petunia had one of her migraines from "dealing with that Potter boy," so perhaps she could take care of him when Remus had to work late? He'd suffer through a dozen photo albums of cats if he didn't have to live with the Dursleys! So he continued to ask, hoping that his good-natured guardian would eventually give in, as he did every time they debated takeaway options.

However, the final time Harry asked – in late October, after his eighth birthday – Remus's face seemed to crumple, and with horror the little boy realised his godfather was trying not to cry. He'd never seen a grown-up cry before; he thought it something only he and other children did, and something he'd eventually grow out of. Grown-ups were meant to be strong, and Remus was the strongest person he knew... Harry never asked again, and gradually accepted that what he had was more than other kids without parents might.

Cheered by the thought that in a little over twenty-four hours he would be having an entirely Dursley-free day – maybe even two! – Harry glanced back up at the snake and sprang back several steps. The creature was now right beside the glass, reared up at eye level with him. He looked around to see if anyone else had noticed this presumably unusual behaviour, but no-one around had so much as turned their head. Tugging on the sleeves of his jumper again, Harry turned back to see the snake had cocked its head to the side, as though trying to read his mind.

"Hello," Harry said, and then shook his head at his own stupidity. The snake couldn't understand him.

But then…why was it staring at him so intently?

"Er, hope you're having a better day than I am," Harry said, scratching his head and wondering why on earth he felt so awkward around the reptile. "But tomorrow I'll get to hang out with my godfather, so that'll be great. And maybe Kingsley will be there too – he used to live with Remus, but then he moved in with his girlfriend a few months back. I've never met her, but apparently she makes great lasagne…"

The snake slowly cocked its head to the other side, and Harry's stomach clenched with something that was more curiosity than fear. He took a step forward, but the snake didn't move, head still tilted as though it were trying to figure out a complex problem.

"So…" Harry continued, looking behind him to make sure no-one was listening to his bizarre one-sided conversation. Uncle Vernon was tapping on the glass of an unfortunate iguana, while Piers and Dudley argued over which kind of snake would make the deadliest pet. Satisfied, Harry turned back around just as a voice whispered near his ear.

"_Huuuuumaaan?_"

Startled, he glanced around, but there was no-one beside him. Perhaps he still had water in his ears from his shower that morning? He jammed a finger into his ear and wiggled it around.

"_Huuuuuumaaaaan!_"

Harry's hand fell limp at his side, as he raised his eyes to meet those of the snake. Who had just spoken to him.

"DADDY! PIERS! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE!"

Harry had barely turned his head when his cousin's elbow slammed into his stomach and he fell to the ground, winded. Dudley pressed his face against the glass, gawping intently at the boa constrictor, who was in turn gazing down at Harry.

Harry could feel himself shaking with anger. He wasn't sure what had been happening – obviously, snakes couldn't speak! – but something _had _been happening, and Dudley just had to go and ruin it.

And the moment that thought formed in his mind, the glass between Dudley and snake _vanished._ Dudley's arms flailed, trying desperately to grab onto to something that simply wasn't there, before Piers managed to pull him backwards, and they both tumbled to the ground. The three of them watched, stricken, as the snake slid, rather gracefully, over the railing and onto the cold concrete floor. Dudley and Piers clutched at one another, whimpering quietly, but the snake ignored them. Instead, it slithered past Harry, hissing what sounded like "_thaaaaaanks, amigo"_, before escaping through the entranceway, snapping at the heels of screaming tourists.

* * *

For a long moment, Harry thought his uncle might lock him in the cupboard under the stairs. He hadn't slept in there since he was three years old, but it was always a threat whenever he did something to displease his aunt or uncle. And for a second, it seemed as though Vernon was seriously debating it. However, with a longing glance at the cupboard, he growled low in his throat and marched Harry up the stairs instead, his grip on the boy's arm entirely vice-like. In fact, if one were to look up 'vice-like' in the dictionary, Harry was sure they might read 'circulation-constricting grip, patented by Vernon Dursley'.

"I swear Uncle Vernon, I didn't do anything!" But, as usual, his uncle didn't believe him.

"You just wait, boy – you'll get your comeuppance one of these days. And when you do, I'll make sure to have a front row seat, you mark my words!"

He kicked open the door to Harry's room, ignoring the sound of splintering wood as the latch unwillingly ripped through the frame. Harry, certain that he would regret what he was about to say, decided to go ahead and say it anyway.

After all, he was in enough trouble as it was.

"There must've been something wrong with the glass, seriously! One minute it was there and the next it was gone – it was like –"

"There's no such thing as _magic_, boy!" Uncle Vernon snarled. He shoved Harry inside and slammed the door behind him.

With a quiet groan, Harry threw himself onto his bed, burrowing his face in the pillow. When it finally became too difficult to breathe, he rolled over, staring up at the ceiling. The Dursleys hadn't bothered to decorate the room much when Harry moved in, and left the walls a faded Magnolia, but Remus had painstakingly painted dozens of stars across the ceiling one day when Harry was ill and bed-bound. Uncle Vernon had apparently viewed this as some sort of competition, and bought Dudley an assortment of glow in the dark stars for his own bedroom ceiling, and refused to take them down when Dudley complained he couldn't sleep.

Harry stared up at a small cluster right over his head, and let out a long breath. It was odd, but he wasn't scared by what had happened in the reptile house. The oddities of the world almost seemed to wait for him to arrive before making themselves known.

There was that time, when he was eight, that Aunt Petunia cut his hair so short that he was practically bald. Dudley almost wet his trousers from laughing, and Harry had spent the evening curled up under his duvet, dreading the moment when he would fall asleep, as the morning would bring school and utter humiliation. But when he chanced a glance in the mirror before breakfast, he was shocked to discover his hair had grown back, just as long as before! Aunt Petunia shrieked when she saw him, while Dudley wailed, undoubtedly at the loss of what would surely have been an excellent day of bullying at school.

And of course there was the incident when Uncle Vernon was driving them home from school shortly before Easter. They were stopped at a set of traffic lights, when a group of middle-aged men and women sitting outside a café stood up and applauded – staring right at Harry! He figured they must've been looking at someone or something else, but before he could figure out what that was, Uncle Vernon floored it, speeding through the still red light and narrowly missing an elderly cyclist. Vernon had spent the evening grilling Harry about the group, and for the rest of that week, Harry felt his uncle's beady eyes on him, as though waiting for _something_ to happen.

The only person who ever seemed to believe him when he swore his innocence in these situations was Remus. In fact, after the haircutting episode, the man had laughed in delight and ruffled Harry's hair, much to Aunt Petunia's chagrin. Maybe it was because Remus _was_ a spy and had seen a lot of unusual things in his time, or maybe he was just humouring his godson, and didn't actually believe him at all, but Remus seemed completely and utterly unfazed by these often ludicrous events.

Harry, on the other hand, wasn't quite as unruffled. He always felt somewhat at odds with himself, as though some part of him was missing or lying dormant in an unreachable part of his body. The school counsellor would probably call that "the perturbing effects of puberty on one's soul", but to Harry it felt like something much more concrete that he just couldn't put his finger on.

He sighed again, rolling onto his side, to find the frozen face of his mother grinning back at him. It was his favourite photo, which was why he liked to keep it on his bedside table, and painstakingly made sure the frame remained free from dust and grime. The sight of it never failed to calm him, because it reminded him that complete happiness was possible. Because the four people in it just looked _so_ _damned_ _happy_.

It had snowed heavily, Remus told him, just before Christmas, 1980. Harry's mother, Lily, had been beside herself with joy – she loved snow, and had been ecstatic to have it fall in her son's first winter. So, despite James's protests that it was too cold outside, and that baby Harry was sure to get lost in a snowdrift, she bundled her small family up in coats and various woollen trimmings, and dragged them out into her wonderland. Their small town, a place called Godric's Hollow, was surrounded by a normally lush countryside, and the small gang had wandered through the glistening lanes and snow-coated trees. James had continued being grumpy and nervous about the baby, so Remus and another of their friends began pelting him with snowballs, beginning a small, icy battle. A battle which ended swiftly when James landed face first in a frozen cowpat, causing baby Harry to laugh for the very first time. And Lily insisted on a picture right then, so she could remember that moment forever.

In the photo, Lily was beaming at the camera, her green eyes sparkling as she cuddled her son in her lap. James sat on her left, pulling a face at the baby Harry, and squeezed in on Lily's other side was Remus. He looked so much younger than the man Harry knew; his face was unlined and carefree, as he laughed at someone who was off camera. (Harry had asked him more than once who it was, but Remus only shrugged, saying it was an old friend who was no longer around.) Staring at the photograph, Harry wished, not for the first (or last) time, that he could remember his parents. And wishes did come true, at least sometimes – of that he was certain.

When he was very small, Harry had been terrified of the dark. Dudley swore there was a monster living at the bottom of the garden – a monstrous beast with three heads, razor sharp teeth and a taste for little kids. If it got into the house at night, it would surely eat Harry before everyone else! He had often lain awake in his cupboard at night, blankets clutched to his chin, ready to dive under them at the slightest creak or crack. After all, if Harry couldn't see in the dark, then maybe the monster couldn't either?

On some nights when Aunt Petunia forgot to close the kitchen door, light from the moon crept in through a small crack in the door to keep him company. Its presence was comforting, as though it was there to protect him in the night, and Harry didn't feel silly telling the moon about his secret wish – of the unknown relative who would come to save him from the Dursleys.

This person would arrive, right in the middle of one of Aunt Petunia's rants about how she was "sick to the back teeth of that Potter boy", and silence her with a look (or turn her into a potted plant with some sort of magic spell). Then, they would scoop Harry up in their arms, hold him close, and promise to take him far, far away from Little Whinging, and stay with him forever. So sure had Harry been of the power of his moon wishes, that any time the doorbell rang, he was convinced that this would be that person. Once he even leapt to his feet and ran as fast as his tiny legs would carry him, certain that this was the day. The unknown relative had _finally_ come to take him away.

But it had been Aunt Marge – Uncle Vernon's sister – and three of her bulldogs, who proceeded to chase Harry around the living room for the next twenty minutes. He never ran for the door after that, which was somewhat ironic, considering the visitor who arrived thirteen days later…

**_October 31__st__, 1983_**

_The sizzle of the frying pan seemed to be taunting Harry's empty stomach. He wasn't allowed supper tonight; Aunt Petunia had caught him playing with one of Dudley's toy dinosaurs in the back garden. Dudley didn't even like the dinosaurs, and hadn't touched them since he'd been bought his latest action figure, but he'd screamed and screamed at the sight of Harry having fun with them. _

_In the living room, Uncle Vernon was tying the string around Dudley's vampire cloak – a proper soft, black length of material Aunt Petunia had bought at the shops. Harry's costume consisted of an old, yellowish bed sheet, which had been parted with only after Mrs. Figg had inquired as to what Harry was dressing up as. Aunt Petunia had been forced to come up with an answer, and a costume._

_Uncle Vernon took a step back, a proud grin spread across his red face. _

_ "Dudders, you're growing into a proper young man."_

_Dudley responded by promptly punching his father in the knee, which only garnered a chortle from the man._

_ "That's some right hook you've got there, son. Petunia, we'll have to buy this boy a pair of boxing gloves before long."_

_Harry shuddered, clutching the bedsheet around him. That was the last thing he needed – Dudley with an excuse to punch him more. _

_The doorbell rang. Petunia sighed. _

_ "More trick-or-treaters, Vernon."_

_Uncle Vernon grunted, attempting to fix the tie on Dudley's cloak, which Harry's cousin was now whinging was "too tight", and glanced at Harry. _

_ "Boy! Give out the sweets from the bucket in the hall. And if I catch you eating ANY of them, it'll be the cupboard for a week! Understand?"_

_ "Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry whispered, trudging out into the hall, the sheet trailing behind him. He hoped it wouldn't be some of Dudley's friends from pre-school; they always teased Harry, and he was sure they'd make fun of his costume. He reached up for the latch, but his fingers barely grazed it. He was quite small for his age – Aunt Marge always said so when she came over, calling him a 'runt', whatever that was – so he had to stand on his tip-toes and jump a few times before he was finally able to grip the latch and tug it down. _

_But as the door creaked open, he realised it wasn't the kids from school. It was a grown-up; a man, and a very tall man at that – Harry had to bend his neck right back to look up at his face. A pair of large brown eyes gazed down at him, from the friendliest face Harry had ever seen. _

_ "Hello, Harry," the stranger said._

_How did the man know his name? He remembered his manners and said "Hello" back, but it came out as little more than a whisper. The man's smile grew wider, and Harry felt his own lips twitch in response. No-one ever smiled at him like that. _

_But then he remembered his family, only several feet away in the kitchen, and felt a twinge of panic. Uncle Vernon would be sure to box his ears if he caught him chatting. _

_ "Do you want some sweets, mister?" he said._

_The stranger laughed. It was different from the way Dudley and Uncle Vernon laughed whenever Harry was around – it was as though he found Harry's words funny, but was laughing _with _him, not _at_ him. _

_ "I don't," he replied. "But thank you very much for the offer."_

_The man then crouched down on his hunkers, which Harry was very glad for, as his neck was beginning to ache, and pulled the bedsheet up over Harry's left shoulder, where it had been sliding off. _

_ "That's a very nice costume, Harry."_

_Harry shrugged, thinking longingly of Dudley's silky black cloak. "I'm just a ghost."_

_ "Are you a scary ghost, or a friendly one?"_

_Harry frowned. "Can ghosts be friendly?"_

_ "Oh, yes!" said the man, "I know several very nice ghosts. They can be a little insensitive on the topic of death, but then I guess they should know all about it, shouldn't they?"_

_Harry blinked. It didn't seem like the tall man was mocking him, but…he must be, surely? His frown deepened; he was confused, and he didn't like it._

_ "Why don't _you_ have a costume?" he asked._

_ "Oh, well! I wanted to make one, but my boss made me stay in work late all this week, so I didn't have time." He stuck out his bottom lip, which made Harry giggle, before his eyes brightened. "I was going to be a ghost too, actually."_

_He looked so delighted at the thought that Harry forgot his confusion and smiled back. _

_ "Boy! What are you - "_

_Uncle Vernon's bark made Harry jump, and instinctively back away, tripping backwards over the sheet. The tall man steadied him, with hands that were warm and gentle._

_ "Who the bloody hell are you?" Vernon barked, striding towards them._

_Harry looked back at the tall man quickly. Uncle Vernon was going to make him leave; he didn't like it when people were nice to Harry, because it gave him 'notions', or something like that. But the man only smiled and stood up. He was _much_ taller than Uncle Vernon._

_ "Vernon, I presume?"_

_ "Depends on who's asking," Vernon replied, stepping closer until Harry was wedged in between the two of them. Harry noticed that his uncle was straightening his back, as though trying to make himself longer, but it was no use._

_ "Remus Lupin." The man held out his hand for Uncle Vernon to shake. "I daresay Petunia has mentioned me."_

_Uncle Vernon glanced at the hand, but didn't take it. "No, she hasn't. Who are you and what do you want?"_

_Just then, Aunt Petunia appeared in the kitchen doorway, her narrow features pinched in irritation. _

_ "Vernon, what on earth –"_

_She saw the tall man and the rest of the words died before they met her lips. Harry had never seen her silenced before._

_ "Hello, Petunia," the man said, pleasantly._

_Aunt Petunia shrieked and dropped the frying pan she was holding. Oil splattered all over the linoleum, sausages rolling in every direction and somewhere in the kitchen Dudley began bawling over his lost fry-up. Harry glanced up at the tall man, who merely raised his eyebrows at the display._

_ "Oh dear – was that supper?"_

_ "What are _you_ doing here?" Aunt Petunia demanded, her voice quavering. She clutched the kitchen doorframe, swaying on her feet. "Are you here for, for…" She couldn't finish, so she pointed. And she was pointing at Harry!_

_The man – Remus Lupin – cleared his throat. "Sort of. How about we all step in from the cold and have a chat –"_

_ "You stay right where you are, sir!" Uncle Vernon bellowed, and the man hesitated. He stared at the Dursleys for a long moment, and Harry felt sick to his tummy. Would the man leave?_

_But leaving didn't seem to be on Remus Lupin's mind. "I don't think you want to continue this conversation here," he said, his voice calm as a summer breeze, "Unless you want the neighbours listening in."_

_With those magic words, he'd won his way inside; the Dursleys loved spying on their neighbours, but hated the idea of anyone knowing that their life was anything other than tip-top and utterly spiffing. And so, Remus Lupin was ushered into the living room. The Dursleys were so distracted, they didn't seem to notice Harry sneak into the room behind them and stand in the corner._

_ "Well, this is very lovely," Remus Lupin said, looking around at the furnishings. "Did you decorate it yourselves?"_

_Aunt Petunia nodded stiffly. Uncle Vernon was swelling like a balloon; he was obviously confused, and not enjoying that fact._

_ "Who is this, Petunia?" he hissed, jumping when it was Remus Lupin who answered him._

_ "I already told you who I am, Mr. Dursley. But to add a little context, I am – was – a friend of Lily and James."_

_The air seemed to vanish from the room, and Harry frantically pinched his arm to make sure he was still awake. Those were his parents' names – this man was here because of his parents! The revelation seemed to have had the opposite effect on Uncle Vernon, whose ruddy face had drained of all colour. But Remus Lupin didn't stop there with his surprises._

_ "I'm also Harry's godfather."_

_ "Codswallop!" Uncle Vernon cried, as Harry's heart began a frantic dance in his chest, "The boy hasn't got anyone but us."_

_ "He's got me."_

_ "Where have you been all this time?" Aunt Petunia whispered. Her face twisted in an expression Harry had never seen before. She looked strangely upset, but in a different way than when Harry tracked mud in from the back garden. It was almost as if Remus Lupin reminded her of something very sad. _

_The smile on the stranger's face faltered, but only a little. "I've been, indisposed, you might say, these past two years. But I'm here now."_

_And there was a beautiful finality to his tone that told them he was here to stay._

_ "DADDY!" _

_Dudley appeared beside Harry, his round face red. There was obviously a tantrum coming. "You said we were going trick-or-treating!"_

_ "Not now, Dudders," Uncle Vernon said, moping at his sweaty brow with a handkerchief._

_Dudley's eyes widened, and his chest swelled and swelled – he was not accustomed to being dismissed. _

_ "YES NOW!" he bellowed._

_ "NOT NOW, DUDLEY!" Uncle Vernon roared back, and Dudley leapt backwards in shock. Harry thought his cousin would burst into one of his spectacular crying fits, but the larger boy seemed too stunned to even think of it. No-one ever raised their voice to Dudley._

_ "Are you here to take him?" Aunt Petunia asked, gesturing at Harry. _

_ "I can't. And you know exactly why," Remus Lupin told her, cutting across Uncle Vernon, who had begun to protest loudly. "I would dearly love to, but as Dumbledore's letter told you, he has to stay here."_

_Harry's heart began to pound even more, but it was joined by a horrible lump in his throat and stinging eyes. Maybe wishes didn't come true after all… _

_ "So, you came here to tell us, what, that you're alive and well but dumping him on us?" Uncle Vernon snarled, clenching his fists. He looked ready to punch something, and Harry made sure he was far out of his uncle's reach._

_ "Not at all," Remus Lupin said. "For one, I intend to be a constant presence in Harry's life from now on, and I will, of course, take over any and all costs related to his upbringing from hereon in. I can see it's been hard on you, considering you could only afford one Halloween costume this year."_

_His eyes roved over Dudley's outfit, and Aunt Petunia's bony face flushed._

_ "I say, sir!" Uncle Vernon blustered, "If you're insinuating that we are hard-up in any way, you are seriously mistaken!"_

_ "Regardless, I will take over the financial burden from now on. You may rest assured that Harry will want for absolutely nothing."_

_Uncle Vernon looked more put-out by this news than relieved. _

_ "Now, as I said, I cannot bring Harry to live with me. But, I would like to get to know him, so what I propose is this: I will collect Harry every Saturday morning at 9am, and return him at prearranged time that evening. If Saturday is not convenient for you, you can of course propose another day; I will be as flexible as you need."_

_Uncle Vernon's sputtering was, at this point, spectacularly incoherent. "But – what if – he – I – he –" _

"_You're absolutely right, Vernon," Remus Lupin said, nodding, "I haven't asked Harry his own opinion on the matter." He turned to Harry, who felt dazed and already had a bruise on his arm from continually pinching it. _

"_What do you think, Harry?" the man said. Harry stared up at him, at his smiling mouth and kind eyes, and wondered if he had any idea what he was offering. His throat felt so tight that he couldn't form a single word, but he nodded his head so vigorously that he thought it might fall off. Remus Lupin seemed to get the message, because his smile grew and grew._

_ "Saturdays are fine," Aunt Petunia said, quietly. She looked suddenly exhausted, and her eyes looked overly bright and seemed to shimmer when she moved her head. "You'll have to collect him at 8:30 though; I have aqua aerobics at 9, and I'll have to leave at twenty to."_

_Remus Lupin smiled softly at her. "8:30 it is then."_

_The rest of that evening had been decidedly strange. Uncle Vernon took Dudley trick or treating after the boy got over his shock and started to snivel, his beady eyes boring into Remus Lupin as he backed out the door. Aunt Petunia made tea for the visitor, but also hot chocolate for Harry, and served both up with thick slices of Halloween brack, before locking herself in the kitchen._

_Remus Lupin sat on the sofa and chatted to Harry while he sipped his tea, asking him all sorts of questions: what did he like to do? Where did he like to go? What was his favourite colour, favourite animal, favourite dessert? Harry had never spoken so much in his life, but the man – his godfather! – seemed to hang on his every word, and after a while Harry forgot to be nervous._

_Eventually, Remus Lupin put down his empty cup. "Why don't you show me your room, Harry?"_

_Harry nodded, bouncing to his feet. This was a big deal – when Dudley's friends came over, they always played in his bedroom. So, if Remus Lupin wanted to visit Harry's room, maybe that meant they would be friends? He'd never had a friend before, and the thought made him feel sick and excited all at once._

_He scurried out into the hallway, and began tugging at the latch of his cupboard._

_Behind him, Remus Lupin chuckled. "What are you doing, Harry, hanging up your sheet?" He abruptly stopped laughing when the door swung open to reveal Harry's room. Harry looked up at him, not really sure what was meant to happen now, but his godfather just stared into the little space._

_Harry began to feel a little uncomfortable; he thought his little room quite nice, and he tried to keep it tidy so Aunt Petunia wouldn't yell at him. It wasn't as big as Dudley's room, but he'd finally figured out a way to keep the spiders out of his pillow, and he always tried to make the bed. But from the horrified expression on Remus Lupin's face, he obviously wasn't impressed at all. Harry felt himself turn red, and stared down at his shoes. He'd only met the man an hour ago, and already he'd displeased him. Maybe he really was just a waste of space after all…_

_ "This is your room, Harry? Your bedroom?"_

_Harry felt so wretched, he could barely nod his head. "Sorry."_

_He sensed the man kneel beside him, but couldn't bring himself to look up as gentle hands gripped his shoulders. _

"_What are you sorry about, Harry?"_

_ "You – you don't like my room…" He wiped his nose on his sleeve, trying to hide the tears slipping now down his face. Aunt Petunia was always furious when he cried. But his new godfather didn't say a word, just softly wiped the tears away with a blue polka dot handkerchief. _

_The kitchen door creaked open, and Aunt Petunia appeared. Harry fully expected a scolding, but when he looked up, he found her staring not at him, but at the man beside him. Nothing was said for a long moment, but Harry was left with the impression that there was something happening in the silence. _

_ "Why don't you go back into the sitting room, Harry?" Remus Lupin said eventually, his voice little more than a whisper. "I'll be right back."_

_The last thing Harry saw before the kitchen door closed was Aunt Petunia's face, as his godfather walked towards her._

* * *

What happened after Remus entered the kitchen remained a mystery to Harry, even now. His three-year-old self had tried pressing his ear to the door, but there wasn't a sound. He reckoned Remus and Aunt Petunia must have gone into the back garden to speak, because something was definitely said between them; Remus emerged ten minutes later, his eyes fierce and his pale face blotchy. Behind him, Aunt Petunia sat at the kitchen table, her head in her hands. The next morning, Harry had awoken to the sound of Uncle Vernon clattering about in Dudley's second bedroom, putting together a bed for Harry, who never spent another night in the cupboard under the stairs.

Back in the present, Harry shook away the memory, kicked off his shoes and pulled the bedcovers over him, not bothering to undress. Outside, he could hear the shrieks of the other children who lived on the road, and the quiet buzz of traffic on the main road. Glancing once more at the photograph of his parents, he took off his glasses and placed them carefully beside the frame.

The morning couldn't come soon enough.


	4. The Man Who Lost It All

**AN:** Thanks and big squishy hugs to all my lovely reviewers and story followers - you guys make my day shiny! And _**Alicia Mirza**_, you really hit the nail on the head about Remus's lack of significant other ;) A little bit is revealed in this chapter, but mostly we'll find out why later on - along with the answers to your other questions!

Enjoy!

**Chapter Three**

**_The Man Who Lost It All_**

**_June 24__rd__, 1991_**

It was 8:32, and Harry was officially worried. He checked his watch against the kitchen clock, and wandered back into the hall, trying to peer through the frosted glass of the front door.

Remus was never late.

He unzipped his jacket, and then zipped it again, just for something to do, and tried to flatten his hair, which was particularly messy that morning.

At 8:33, Harry decided to chew his fingernails. He then decided he didn't like doing that, and promptly stopped.

At 8:34, he began to measure time by counting the seconds between Dudley's snores from upstairs.

At 8:35, a car door slammed, and Harry flung the door open to see Remus striding up the driveway, looking flustered.

"Hey kid, sorry I'm late. I left a few minutes later than usual, and there was a major traffic jam on the motorway because a thirty-foot ceramic giraffe fell off the back of a lorry! I thought I'd never get past the thing; its legs spread across two lanes."

Harry barely heard him speak, relieved as he was at the sight of his godfather. But a moment later, when his brain had caught up with his ears, Harry realised something was amiss. Remus's voice was a little hoarser than usual, and his normally tidy appearance seemed a little rough around the edges, like a character in an old cartoon. And on closer inspection, his eyes looked a little bloodshot.

"Remus, are you _hungover_?"

Remus's eyebrows shot up to comical heights. "Don't be silly, Harry," he said, blinking rapidly, before giving Harry a quizzical look. "How would you know what a hangover looks like anyway?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "One of our teachers likes to have "quiet time" every Monday morning. Although you don't look half as bad as he normally does."

Remus was appalled. "Good grief, you never said! Well, at least you'll be changing schools soon; hopefully none of your new teachers will be alcoholics."

"What, like you?" Harry said, cheekily.

Remus made a valiant attempt to look stern, but his lips kept twitching upwards as he gave Harry a gentle shove. "Now, now. You can blame Kingsley for this one; he tested his homemade brew on me."

"What on earth was it?"

"Fi- eh, whiskey."

"Is that strong?"

"The sort Kingsley makes? Absolutely." He paused, blinking down at Harry, and then scrubbed a hand over his face. "You really are far too young for this conversation. Let's go; I need breakfast, and lots of it. We'll stop at the café on the way."

Harry grinned, and ran back to close the door, hoping they'd escape before –

"LUPIN!"

Remus flinched, shoulders hunching as he raised one hand to his head, as though trying to keep it attached to his neck. Uncle Vernon stood in the doorway, face red and moustache twitching. Harry could see the vein in his forehead throbbing from where he stood.

"A word, _if you please_." And with that, he vanished back into the kitchen, presumably for dramatic effect.

Remus heaved a sigh and nudged Harry. "Quick, tell me what he thinks you did this time."

But Harry couldn't convince the words to form in his mouth. What could he possibly say? _"Uncle Vernon thinks I caused a glass wall to disappear and set a snake on Dudley. Mind if we get banana fudge sundaes later?" _

"Harry?" Remus said, poking him gently on the arm.

"LUPIIIIIIIN!"

"Aaah," Remus hissed, this time pressing his hands over his eyes. He walked slowly into the house, as though towards the gallows, with Harry trailing miserably after him. He made to follow Remus into the kitchen, but the door was promptly shut in his face by his uncle, who snarled at him to get back to his bedroom. Harry stomped loudly up the stairs, before slinking back down again, avoiding the creaky steps. Heart pounding, he pressed his ear against the kitchen door.

"How are you, Vernon?" he heard Remus say, in far more courteous a manner than the smaller, moustached man had ever greeted him with.

"Well, _Lupin_, how do you think I am!"

There was a pause. "I'm really not sure if that's a question or not," Remus replied. "For the sake of clarity, how about you tell me what it is that's bothering you. And –", he added, as Harry heard Vernon take a rather large breath, "– preferably while speaking at a lower volume; I do have rather a large headache."

"The boy has been up to his tricks again," Vernon spat, "Petunia and I will not stand for it anymore!"

"Been up to what, precisely?"

"That – that _nonsense_! Dudley could have been killed. KILLED!"

Remus let out a small groan, but continued. "I'm terribly sorry, Vernon, but I have absolutely no idea to what you are referring."

"_Your_ boy out there set a snake on Dudley at the zoo. My son could have been eaten! EATEN!"

"That would have been most unfortunate, and I am extremely glad to hear he survived the ordeal. But I fail to see how Harry could possibly have bribed a snake into attacking his cousin?"

Harry could only imagine how purple his uncle's face was by now.

"There was glass in front of the snake's cage –"

"Enclosure?"

"WHATEVER! There was glass, and it _mysteriously vanished_ as Dudley was standing in front of it. Do you understand now, Lupin?"

Harry felt the first threads of panic rise within him. Remus always listened to Vernon's accusations about whatever Harry had 'done', said something to calm the man, but was never, ever angry with Harry himself. In fact, he often seemed almost proud, sometimes grinning and ruffling Harry's hair once Uncle Vernon was out of sight.

But this time it was serious. Not that the boa constrictor could actually have eaten Dudley – at least not in less than a few hours – but a giant snake escaping the zoo was far more severe than growing hair back overnight.

"Vernon," Remus said, "are you trying to suggest that Harry somehow made a sheet of glass disappear from a reptile enclosure in some sort of homicidal rage?"

Uncle Vernon spluttered a bit. "I don't know why he did it, but he did it!"

"But surely if he wanted to kill Dudley, there are easier ways to do it. Poison, for example? Or some sort of quote-unquote 'accident'?"

"Maybe he didn't think it through," Uncle Vernon snarled, "Or maybe he just couldn't help himself."

"Ahh!" Remus exclaimed, "You're thinking Harry is serial killer material. Well, that is rather serious. You haven't caught him torturing animals, have you? Intentionally stepping on snails in the garden or anything?"

"No, but – "

"And he hasn't been wetting the bed? Surely not, or you would definitely have raised that issue first. No, Vernon, I don't believe Harry has the makings of a psychopath just yet."

"I never said that he – he only tried to kill my son!" Uncle Vernon bellowed. "He spoke to that snake and it attacked Dudley!"

This particular statement was met with silence. At first, Harry assumed Remus was trying his best not to snigger out loud. But it stretched on so long that Harry began to wonder if his godfather's hangover had caught up with him and he'd passed out under the kitchen table. Eventually Remus spoke, but in a hushed voice that held no trace of humour. A voice Harry had never heard from him before.

"He spoke to the snake."

"Yes! Dudley and Piers saw him talking to it."

"But they didn't hear what Harry said?"

"Isn't it obvious what he said to it?! "Kill Dudley!""

"Did they hear anything he said? Any word at all?"

"I don't know, Lupin – what does _that_ matter?"

Remus didn't answer, but Harry could hear him pacing back and forth on the linoleum floor.

"Never mind," he said eventually, "It doesn't matter. I'm sorry Dudley had a fright, but I'm sure it will never happen again."

The unmistakeable _thump_ of Uncle Vernon's fist slamming onto the table finally woke the boy in question; Dudley's snoring upstairs was replaced by an incoherent bellow and the sound of various items being knocked to the floor.

"YOU'RE SURE?!" Uncle Vernon shrieked, "I don't want your thoughts on the matter Lupin – I want something done!"

"There's nothing to be done, Vernon, as Harry did not do _anything_." Remus lowered his voice so much that Harry had to strain to hear him. "Trust me when I tell you that controlling a snake is not something a child could possibly do."

"But –"

Uncle Vernon abruptly stopped speaking. Harry backed away from the door a little, sure his eavesdropping had been noticed, but when no footsteps approached or purple-faced uncles flung open the door, he tiptoed back over, just in time to hear Remus's response.

"Harry is going away to school in September, so he will be of little concern to you from then on."

Uncle Vernon made some sort of horrible choking sound. "I've told you before, Lupin, he's not going to that place. Petunia and I absolutely forbid it!"

"I think you know that's not your decision."

Harry never heard his uncle sound so panicked as when his new school was brought up in conversation. Why were his aunt and uncle so averse to his attending this Hogwarts place? He'd been told it was a private school; surely they had no qualms about informing the neighbours of that fact? Or perhaps they didn't like the idea of Harry going to a posher school than Dudley. Honestly, that seemed the most likely explanation.

"You think you can intimidate me, Lupin," Uncle Vernon said, in a quavering voice that suggested the other man most definitely could. "I won't budge on this; the boy is not going to that place and that's final!"

"I'm afraid this is not up for debate, Vernon," Remus replied, sounding exhausted. They'd had this argument many times over the past year; Harry had overheard at least five of them.

"We'll see," Uncle Vernon said.

"Yes, we will."

"Oh yes we will!"

"I know we – you know what, this will go around in circles."

This time footsteps did approach, and Harry darted back towards the stairs, sitting down on the bottom step just as Remus emerged from the kitchen.

"Come along, Harry," he said quietly, opening the front door. Not daring to look back into the kitchen, Harry followed his godfather outside.

Remus lived and worked in London, but unlike many other Londoners, he owned a car – an old Austin Metro, which appeared to be rather small, but was surprisingly roomy once you were inside it. Harry had once asked him why he didn't get an updated model – according to Aunt Petunia, the size and expense of a man's car showed you what he was worth. But Remus had only shrugged and told him that no amount of material wealth could tell you that. Harry supposed the difference was that the Dursleys cared desperately what people thought of them; Remus had once worn a bright pink bow in his hair for a whole day, just because Harry dared him to.

They drove in silence for several minutes, passing into the outskirts of Little Whinging before Harry couldn't stand it anymore.

"I swear I didn't do it, Remus. Honestly."

"I know, Harry."

Harry didn't like his distant tone, or the way Remus's smile didn't reach his eyes. He took a deep breath.

"But…the glass did vanish. I saw it."

"I know that too. Your Uncle Vernon has a flair for the dramatic, but I doubt even he would openly admit to a hallucination of that magnitude."

"So, what do you think it could have been? A hologram?" Harry frowned to himself as he said the words. Why would a zoo only have a hologram of glass to keep in dangerous animals? Surely that would defeat the purpose entirely.

Remus didn't answer right away, instead fiddling with the knob for the heater, although there was no need on a warm June morning. Finally, he said, "I think, Harry, that sometimes extraordinary things happen. And they don't have to be sinister or frightening – they just are what they are: extraordinary."

Harry considered this as he watched suburban countryside turn to motorway. Extraordinary things did happen in the world; people spoke about miracles, things that seemed improbable or impossible, or entirely without explanation. Alien sightings, haunted houses, people who emerged from comas after ten or twenty years.

But something like this…it was almost like magic.

Harry wasn't sure he believed in magic, but after watching that pane of glass disappear in front of him, he really hoped it was. Otherwise, both he and his whole family were going round the twist.

He glanced at his godfather, who had fallen silent and was apparently concentrating hard on his driving. Remus, too, was fairly weird, in his own way; he lived in a huge house full of bizarre, antique-looking furniture that seemed to have very little purpose, and had kitchen cupboards stocked full of the most amazing and obscure foods, almost all of which couldn't be found in the regular supermarkets (Harry had looked, a lot). He also had a pet owl, who he had somehow trained to deliver letters to people. The man was the very definition of eccentric.

However, vanishing glass seemed a little _too_ extraordinary to dismiss, and Harry wondered why Remus seemed so tense, and why he had been concerned over exactly what Harry had said to the snake.

* * *

Lily's Café in New Maiden was a frequent stop-off for breakfast on their way to Remus's home in Fulham. While the establishment's namesake looked nothing like Harry's mother – a tall, stooped black woman with a receding afro and a fondness for colourful upholstery – she was exceptionally fond of the boy and his godfather, always greeting them with a toothy grin and a double helping of absolutely anything they wanted.

This morning, however, she was absent – at a wedding in Glasgow, they were told – and replaced by a young, wispy waitress with shaky hands and a weak voice. They ordered their usual; bacon, eggs and toast for Remus, and pancakes drizzled with syrup and a side of sausages for Harry – both to be accompanied by a pot of tea. The waitress took their order quickly and scurried away into the kitchen, clutching her notepad between white knuckles.

"We haven't been here in a while," Remus said, looking around, "Were the walls always banana yellow?"

"I think they were lime green last time," Harry said, squinting at a new painting on the wall, "Or maybe bright orange."

"Could have been both." Remus ran a hand down his face and groaned. "Remind me to never accept a drink from Kingsley again. And remind yourself of that too, when you get older." He squinted at Harry. "_Much_ older."

Harry laughed and agreed, although he secretly wondered how good whiskey tasted if Remus had had so much of it. "Oh, I got a postcard from Hope the other day. Shouldn't she be back from her trip by now?"

Remus rolled his eyes. "Should she heck? You know my mother – never stick to any sort of itinerary. Last I heard, she was getting a tattoo of a kangaroo, as she has lately realised it's her spirit animal."

Harry almost tipped over his glass of water, he was laughing so hard. "Why a kangaroo?"

"I assume because they can hop away when you start to bore them. Or they enjoy kicking you in the - "

He was interrupted by the arrival of the wispy waitress, whose thin arms shook under the weight of their food-laden plates. Remus reached out to help her, but she shook her head furiously and gingerly laid them on the table, before darting back to the counter.

"D'you think she's alright?" Harry mused, after watching her for a moment.

Remus glanced back at the waitress, who was now absentmindedly folding and refolding a pile of freshly laundered tea towels. "Perhaps not. Or perhaps she's simply the owner of a nervous disposition." He poured them both a cup of tea. "Your mother's aunt was a little like that; always flitting about, never able to settle."

"Which aunt was that?"

"Myrtle, the one who married the -"

"- aggressive accountant," Harry finished. He had always felt a bit sorry for Myrtle; the majority of stories Remus told about her always ended with her straightening tablecloths and dusting pristine ornaments, while her husband yelled at politicians, salespeople, or long lost relatives who called to the house. A pattern which was apparently the end of the accountant; he died of a heart attack during a rant about overpriced napkin holders. Harry often wondered if Uncle Vernon would go the same way.

He chewed on his piece of pancake, watching as the waitress finally returned from wherever she had been visiting in her mind, and carried the pile of towels through to the kitchen. Hopefully she didn't have an accountant at home.

"Speaking of relationships." Remus leaned forward, clearing his throat. "I'm actually seeing someone at the moment. And I'd like you to meet her."

Harry almost choked on his pancake. "Right now?"

Remus laughed. "No, not right now. But, sometime soon, maybe? What do you think?"

"Yeah, er, yeah, of course."

Remus smiled, and seemed content to leave it at that, returning to his eggs. Harry, however, felt his appetite swiftly disappear.

He knew Remus had had girlfriends before, but he'd never met any of them. Remus had told him that he'd only bring them into Harry's life if things got serious, and Harry had always been perfectly happy with this arrangement, almost selfishly so. He didn't want to have to share Remus with someone else. Kingsley didn't count; Harry had grown up around him, and he was almost like Remus's brother.

But girlfriends were different. Uncle Vernon was constantly complaining about Tom From Work, whose girlfriend was apparently a nightmare – nagging him constantly, and spending his paychecks on Italian footwear. Harry wasn't sure if that meant those shoes were more expensive that other footwear, but it sounded like it. The thought of Remus winding up with someone like that was awful. The man could obviously take care of himself, being a super-secret spy, but what if he fell in love with a lunatic? He was so good-natured, what if he let her walk all over him and spend all his money? Suddenly, Harry felt the urge to track this new girlfriend down and inspect the labels on all her shoes.

"What's she like?" he asked, hoping the panic he was feeling hadn't shown in his voice. Remus didn't seem to notice anything peculiar, even smiling at the question.

"Her name is Faye. She's originally from Wales, but she lives in London now."

Great, she was nearby.

"Does she work with you?"

"Same building, different department. She's a counsellor, of sorts."

"Like you're a detective, of sorts."

Remus's lips twitched up. "Exactly."

So, she had a secret job. That sort of worked in her favour, but Harry still wasn't convinced.

"Does she have any, you know, unusual hobbies?"

Remus seemed suspended somewhere between laughter and confusion. "_Unusual_ _hobbies_? Like ferret collecting, or something?"

"Sure, yeah," Harry said, trying to sound casual, "Or, you know, buying really expensive Italian things?"

Remus leaned back in his chair, his lips now twitching wildly.

"Harry, are you worried she's after me for my money?"

Harry shrugged, hoping he wouldn't have to admit to anything, before deciding that it was better Remus was aware of the threat. Love was apparently blind, after all. "Well, you never know…"

The bell on the door jingled as Remus began to snigger, bringing a warm breeze and a new customer into the café. Harry was vaguely aware of a man approaching the now deserted counter, and felt the hair on his arms stand to attention for no apparent reason. He sat up straighter.

"You know," Remus said, "I'm a little offended. Don't I have anything else to lure women towards me with than my bank balance?"

"Well, yeah, of course you do," Harry replied, rubbing his now cold arms and hoping Remus didn't want him to comment on how good-looking his godfather was. Harry thought he was, but it would be very embarrassing to say it out loud. His eyes drifted back to the man at the counter, who wasn't even looking at the menu on the wall, or choosing a seat. He was just standing there, not shuffling or moving at all.

Completely still, like that boa constrictor at the zoo.

"You sure?" Remus was asking, "Because, you know, if I'm completely lacking in personality, I'd rather hear about it now from you."

Harry looked at him in confusion. "Of course you're not – I'd never think that!"

Remus's grin faltered. "I'm only joking Harry. Are you alright?"

"Yeah." He glanced briefly at the stranger, and then back at his godfather. "I just don't want you to wind up with a total witch."

Remus laughed so hard at this, he almost fell out of his chair, while a movement just past his head caught Harry's eye. Through the porthole window to the kitchen, he could see the waitress speaking to the chef, and it seemed that the stranger noticed her too, from where he stood. He lifted a pale hand, running it through his hair, his jacket shifting to accommodate the action. And that was when Harry saw the knife tucked into his belt.

The waitress reappeared, just as Harry grabbed Remus's wrist.

"Remus, he's got a -"

Within a second and a half, several things happened. The stranger caught the young waitress by the throat, causing her to drop the tray of teacups and saucers she had been carrying. Remus sprang from his chair, startling the old woman sitting behind him into dropping her cigarette into her scrambled eggs, while someone in the kitchen began screaming in Spanish.

"Easy," Remus said, holding his hands up, "just relax."

"Shut it!" the stranger snarled, pulling the waitress in front of him, as though using her as a shield. "This doesn't concern you. Everyone out – GET OUT!"

A young couple sitting by the window ran for the door, while the old woman simply lit up another cigarette. Remus didn't move.

"No-one needs to get hurt here."

"Oh really? Well, if you don't shut it, your boy there will be trying to resurrect your mangled body in a minute!"

Harry desperately wanted to get up and pull Remus back; he was standing far too close to the knife-wielding man for comfort. But Remus didn't seem at all perturbed by what Harry thought was a fairly good threat, and took a step closer.

"You don't want to do anything you'll regret."

The stranger snorted, relaxing and tightening his grip on the knife. Harry couldn't take his eyes off it.

"How do you know what I'll regret?"

"Well, I suppose I don't, seeing as we don't know each other personally," Remus said, taking another step, "But I know _I'd_ definitely regret hurting someone I love."

The stranger's eyes widened, and he glanced at the waitress, before narrowing his eyes at the other man.

"You a copper?"

"Not exactly."

"Exactly? Either you are or you aren't – which is it?"

"Well, if we're talking specifics, then I suppose I'm not."

This seemed to relax the stranger, but he didn't loosen his grip on his hostage. "You a P.I. or something, yeah? Well, maybe I should've hired you to keep an eye on Gwen here." He gave the waitress a shake, his voice becoming choked. "Stop that bastard from seducing her and taking her away from me!"

"He didn't seduce me –"

"Can you believe it, mister?" the stranger interrupted, his eyes shining. "She's with someone else, while she's carrying _my _baby. It's not right, she belongs with me." He tightened his hold around Gwen's neck, twisting her backwards so he could look into her face. "You and the baby belong with me."

"It's not yours, Tim" the waitress gasped, her pale face now blotchy as she tried to prevent the man's arm from crushing her windpipe.

"Stop saying that! It's mine, you know it's mine, and we can be together – you just have to come home."

Gwen gave a strangled sob, as the man – Tim – kissed her cheek roughly. Remus took another step forward.

"You don't want to hurt her."

Tim tore his gaze away from Gwen, his dark eyes like shimmering black pools that never reached the light.

"Really, big man? You're gonna tell me what I want?"

"If you really love her, you'll want what's best for her. And you'll let her go."

"No, NO!"

Tim started to laugh a little hysterically, pointing the knife at Remus. "You're funny, Mister P.I. – a real comedian. Because we both know that's not how this works. Some bastard comes along and takes your woman away, and you're just meant to let her go? Let her leave you?"

"Yes, you just let her go," Remus replied, softly, "You let her be happy."

Tim shook his head furiously. "No, no way. She can't tell me she's in love with me, and then decide she's not. That's not fair."

"No," Remus said, "It's not fair. But this isn't fair either, Tim. You have a choice here, to do the right thing."

There were sirens in the distance; the young couple must have called the real coppers. Tim began to shake, and Remus took another small step. Harry wanted to yell at him to stop – he was almost within arm's reach of the other man – but his voice wouldn't work.

"I have a choice, eh?" Tim said. "Alright then, how about I give her a choice, too?" He looked down at Gwen. "She can either choose to be with me, or she can choose to die."

Harry felt as though he were in a dream; there was no way this could be happening. Not in a little café, over pancakes and eggs and a pot of tea.

"That won't make you happy, Tim," Remus said, and Harry could hear urgency creep into his tone, "How could hurting Gwen make you feel better?"

"He's not good enough for her; bloody unemployed waste of space, he is! And she's choosing him over _me_? Bet he's been laughing at me this whole time – bet they both have."

"No, I haven't –"

"SHUT UP!" Tim roared, and Gwen began to sob hysterically, her entire body sagging as her knees gave way. Only Tim's grip was keeping her upright now. "You have to decide right now if you love me."

"Tim, p-p-please don't."

"_Do_ _you_ _love_ _me?_"

Harry wished she would lie, or say something – anything – instead of trembling and crying, but it seemed Gwen could manage little else at this point. Tim shut his eyes, tears now sliding down his cheeks too. For a moment, Harry thought he was giving up, but when his eyes opened again, they were brimming with hate.

"I guess you'd rather die, then."

Gwen screamed as he raised his arm, plunging the knife towards her stomach, and Harry slammed his own eyes shut.

But the dreadful sound he was expecting never came. Gwen continued to sob and cry, but when Harry opened his eyes again, she looked unharmed. Tim was still clutching her to him, but his face looked oddly blank, all traces of anger and hatred gone. The knife was still clutched in his hand, but the point was several inches from Gwen's stomach, as though he had stopped himself just before it made contact.

"You don't want to do this," Remus was saying, his tone gentle, but firm. "You remember how much you love this woman, and you know you don't want to hurt her."

"I don't want to hurt her," Tim echoed, and the knife slid from his hand, clattering to the tiled floor.

Remus strode forward, kicking the knife behind him, and carefully extracted Gwen from underneath the other man's arm. Surprisingly, Tim let her go – in fact, he barely reacted at all, swaying slightly on the spot, staring at some point on the opposite wall.

A horde of police officers burst into the café, just as Remus was tying Tim's wrists together with a roll of sellotape.

"Morning chaps," Remus said, "Don't suppose any of you has an aspirin handy?"

The old woman got to her feet, muttering something about a boring ending, and left the café without paying.

* * *

Harry perched on the bonnet of the Austin Metro, watching police officers wander in and out of Lily's Café. Seeing as they had both Tim and his knife in custody, he wasn't sure what more they needed to do there, but there were at least a dozen of them talking, taking pictures and pointing at things.

A policewoman had taken Harry aside and asked for his version of what had happened. He'd told her what he could; what time he and Remus had arrived, what time Tim had arrived, the uneasiness Harry had felt upon seeing him.

"You felt instantly afraid?" the policewoman asked, eagerly. "Like he was a threat from the moment he entered?"

"Er, no, I don't think so. He was just acting strangely, that's all."

The policewoman looked deflated, but thanked him anyway and moved on. Remus had told him to wait by the car, presumably because he was being interviewed himself, so Harry pulled himself onto the bonnet and waited.

After his brief and inexplicable bout of calmness, Tim had lost his cool again when the officers arrested him and started to read him his rights. He began screaming and swearing at Gwen, who was being treated for shock by two paramedics, and had to be forcibly bundled into a squad car. It was bizarre to witness – even Tim looked confused by the situation he found himself in.

Why had he listened to Remus and let her go, only to change his mind again?

Harry wasn't exactly sure what had happened to Tim in those last moments, but as crazy as it sounded, he just knew Remus was somehow responsible.

He swivelled around on the bonnet and searched the crowd for his godfather, finally spotting him several metres away, where he was deep in conversation with a heavily bearded man in a long, dark coat. He didn't look like a police officer, but maybe he was a plain clothes detective? Or maybe he was something else.

After a few more exchanged words, Remus shook the man's hand. And in the blink of an eye, the man had vanished, and Remus was striding towards Harry.

"Alright kiddo?"

Harry nodded, moving over so Remus could sit beside him. He slung an arm around Harry's shoulders, gazing around at the crowd of officers, onlookers and reporters still milling around.

"A lot of drama for one morning, huh?"

"Yep. What's going to happen to Tim, d'you think?"

"He'll most likely be charged with assault, if not attempted murder."

"Will we have to testify?"

"I might," Remus replied with a shrug, "But I doubt you will."

Harry nodded, watching as Tim continued to scream as the police car drove him away. "He must have been really upset, to attack his girlfriend like that."

"Ex-girlfriend." Remus gave him a sly grin. "And that's a bit rich, coming from the kid who sends snakes after people."

Harry elbowed him in the ribs. "All I told the snake was that I was seeing you today, and that Kingsley's girlfriend makes nice lasagne! Wish I'd never said a word to it."

"So, it didn't start talking back to you, then?" Remus said, mock-serious, "Tell you of its preference for snacking on lads of the rounder variety? Or ask for that lasagne recipe?"

He knew Remus was teasing, but for a split second, Harry debated whether or not to tell him about that noise the snake had made, the way it had sounded almost like English…

"_Huuuuuuumaaaan_."

But while vanishing glass was one thing, turning into Doctor Dolittle suddenly and without any other talking animals in his past was quite another. And really, he wasn't sure what he'd heard – he might have imagined the entire thing, or heard the wind whispering...through a thoroughly windless building.

Perhaps snakes were like parrots, good at imitating things people said? That could be a thing! Whatever the reason, he decided Remus didn't need to know about it, and it was probably better that the man didn't, so Harry forced himself to roll his eyes and reply:

"Of course not!"

It may have been a trick of the light, or a remnant of the whiskey hangover, but Harry was sure his godfather looked distinctly relieved. They both watched as a young man, who could only be Gwen's new boyfriend, burst through the crowd and pulled her into a hug, causing her to burst into tears again. Harry glanced up at Remus and found him smiling softly at the scene.

"How's your hangover?" Harry asked.

"Oh, much better, actually. Lucy, the lovely paramedic, gave me two aspirin and about a gallon of water, so I'll be peeing all afternoon."

Harry laughed, looking over at the blonde paramedic, who waved cheerily at them. "Two whole aspirin? Maybe she fancies you."

"Either that, or she was after my pension plan."

Harry glared at Remus and the man laughed loudly, his eyes twinkling. Tightening his grip around Harry's shoulders, he pulled him into a one-armed hug and kissed the top of the boy's head.

"I appreciate you being worried about me, Harry, I really do. And while I don't think Faye is the sort to go after blokes for money, I promise that when I bring her around, you can grill her as much as you like."

Harry wasn't entirely convinced, but at least Remus didn't seem to be as downtrodden as Tom From Work. He nodded and suddenly remembered the question he'd been dying to ask.

"Remus?"

"Hmm?"

"Who was that man?"

"What man?"

"The man in the long coat, with the red beard. You were speaking to him just before you came over here."

Remus raised an eyebrow, smiling down at him. "Nothing gets past you, does it? That was O'Mahoney, I know him from work."

"And what was he doing here?"

"Being nosy."

"How did he know _you_ were here?"

"News travels fast in London."

Harry knew he should probably give up, that Remus wasn't going to tell him anything, but he couldn't help asking once again.

"Are you ever going to tell me what you really do, Remus?"

He assumed the question would be futile, that Remus would shrug it off with some witty comment, as was their usual exchange on the subject. But surprisingly, the man ran a hand through his hair and stared down at him for a long moment, before saying:

"I will soon, Harry."

Harry must have looked as thoroughly shocked as he felt, because Remus gave a small huff of amusement.

"On your birthday, I promise I'll tell you everything."

Later that night, after Harry had gone to bed – full to the brim with turkey, stuffing, custard trifle, and elation from his Monopoly victory over Remus and Kingsley – the two men shut themselves in Remus's study. A piece of parchment lay on the desk, official Ministry stamp on one top corner, the Auror department insignia on the other. Kingsley didn't need to ask what it was; he counted five names written on it.

"Well," he said, taking a sip of a beverage that Remus had made sure was more coffee than Irish. "Have you made a decision about the sixth recruit you want to take on?"

Remus nodded, sinking down into one of the armchairs, and Kingsley mirrored him, stretching his long legs out. Taking a deep breath, Remus told him the last name he had chosen, and the other man didn't seem at all surprised. It was one thing Remus had always admired about his best friend; his ability to always seem utterly unruffled by the world. Last week, a suspected dark wizard had thrown up on the black man's shoes, and he had only raised one dark eyebrow, as if to say, "that the best you can do?"

"Are you happy with your decision?" Kingsley asked.

Remus shrugged. "I wouldn't have been happy either way. But, I look at Harry, and what he grew up around, and how he's turned out in spite of it. And look at the way I was after the war, and even that man today who just cracked because he felt betrayed by the woman he loved. Can any of us control what we do?"

"I think that last example is a little extreme," Kingsley said, his voice slow and calming as ever. "You were in love with a girl that you gave up to someone else, _without_ trying to stab her."

Remus snorted. "Well, she would have slapped me and stolen the knife anyway."

Kingsley threw his head back and laughed. "Yes, most likely."

They sat in silence for a while, sipping their coffee, until at last Remus got to his feet. Kingsley watched as his friend wrote 'Nymphadora Tonks' at the bottom of his list, rolled up the parchment, and sent his owl, Athena, on her way.

"Did I do the right thing, Kingsley?" Remus whispered.

Kingsley didn't answer, because he knew his friend didn't want him to. So, they simply watched the owl grow smaller and smaller, until she disappeared into the darkness.

**AN:** Please review, if you've got a sec! ;)


	5. Access

**AN: **Happy New Year to one and all! Thanks to my lovely reviewers and followers; your encouragement and support is always appreciated. And **HaywireEagle**, I'm afraid this won't end up with the pairing you want, but feel free to dream my friend! :)

**Chapter Four**

**_Access_**

**_Friday, July 19__th__, 1991_**

The Auror office was more nebulous than the Muggle underground, and had far less helpful signposting. Tonks tried to walk as purposefully as possible through a seemingly endless maze of cubicles, despite the fact she had no idea where she was going.

Since entering the Ministry, she'd had to present her wand for weighing, show her official documentation four times, and resist the urge to show her middle finger at least twice. Eventually, she was escorted to the Auror department, where a guard at the entrance repeated the entire process, before staring into her eyes for a very uncomfortable forty-three seconds.

"Says here you're a metamorphy-mogus."

Tonks bit her tongue at the mispronunciation, and tried to at least be grateful of the fact he hadn't commented on her wretched name. "Yep, I am indeed."

The guard looked her up and down. "You don't look like one."

It was becoming physically painful to avoid sarcasm. "Well," Tonks replied, in what she hoped was a sincere tone, "we all look a bit different. That's sort of the point."

The guard grunted, and gave her another once over before handing back her paperwork.

"Head down the corridor and swing a left at the statue of Tibald the Tiny. Speak to the secretary on duty; they should have your schedule."

But the reception desk was unoccupied, leading to Tonks's current state of aimlessness. She passed by dozens of cubicles, some barely large enough to accommodate the desks crammed into them, while others were more roomy, allowing for more personal items, such as plants, hat stands and bookcases. As she peered into one whose walls were covered with posters of some Muggle boyband, she heard voices nearby, and poked her head around the corner to find the source.

Four Aurors stood huddled in a small tearoom off the next row, muttering to one another. Tonks tiptoed over – or at least tried to, stubbing her toe off a filing cabinet – but they didn't seem to notice, so focused they were on whatever was on the table in front of them.

"What do you think?" a tall, Caucasian man with thinning hair was asking.

"Curious," the olive-skinned woman on his left replied, "You really don't know where it came from?"

The blonde woman beside her shook her head. "No, it was just here when we arrived this morning. No-one even knows how it was delivered."

Perhaps it was a dark object? Or some sort of clue in an on-going inquiry? Tonks was practically salivating at the thought as she tried to find a gap in the group to peer through, but to no avail. Surely it couldn't hurt to get a bit closer, just to have a peek?

She edged through the doorway of the kitchenette, wincing as she realised how bad an idea this was, creeping up behind four trained Aurors. But they didn't even notice her presence; the olive-skinned woman took out her wand, and the tall man moved slightly to the right, finally giving Tonks a good look at the dark object.

It was a basket of miniature pumpkin pasties.

"There's no name on the card," the blonde woman said, bending down to peer at the basket, "and the usual detection spells aren't revealing anything."

"Log it into evidence?" a man with a thick, ginger beard suggested.

"Suppose that's what the sender wanted?" the tall man said, "And it's actually a time-activated dark object?"

"Or a time-activated portkey?" the blonde woman said.

The other woman rolled her eyes. "What, and send the entire department somewhere else? That's ridiculous."

"Well, what's your brilliant theory?"

"What's going on in here?" a new voice said.

Tonks jumped, trying and failing to think up an excuse for her nosiness, but the new arrival – a tall, black man with an earring – wasn't even looking at her as he entered the room.

"Ah Shacklebolt," the bearded man said, "just the fellow. What do you reckon?"

Shacklebolt moved to the table, the others shifting to let him pass. He circled the table, waved his wand a few times, and then leaned in to pick up a pasty.

He sniffed it and, to the horror of the others, took a large bite. The Aurors seemed to hold a collective breath as he swallowed.

"I reckon," Shacklebolt replied, "they're rather delicious."

"Have you lost your gobstones, Shacklebolt?" the tall man asked in a choked voice, "You could have died!"

"I rather doubt that," Shacklebolt said, swallowing the remainder of the pasty, "Lupin and I were in Bakewell at four this morning and brought these back with us."

"But then why didn't you sign the card?" the blonde woman asked.

Shacklebolt grinned widely, his swinging gold hoop giving him a vaguely piratical look. "Who says we didn't?"

He waved his wand, and the card shimmied and shook and emitted a little puff of green smoke, before writing appeared in a cursive script. The woman lifted the card and read aloud in a monotone; "Gotcha nimrods! Lots of love, R and K."

The bearded man laughed raucously, while the tall man grumbled: "Have the two of you nothing better to be doing at 4am?"

"When you've spent six hours chasing a pair of trolls across the Peak District, you need to conjure yourself a bit of light relief," Shacklebolt replied, picking up another pasty. "Besides, the utter irony of a bunch of Aurors standing around a harmless box of pasties, while a stranger sneaks in behind them."

The Aurors looked puzzled, then the bearded man noticed Tonks standing in the corner and suddenly there were four wands pointed in her direction.

"Put those away," Shacklebolt said, rolling his eyes at them, before turning to her. "You must be one of the new recruits." He held out a large hand. "Kingsley Shacklebolt."

"Nice to meet you, sir. I'm Tonks." she said, shaking his hand firmly.

The man's eyebrows twitched upward, but his smile didn't falter. "Of course, Nympha -"

"It's just Tonks, sir."

Shacklebolt shrugged. "Fair enough. Well, you'd better grab a pasty – if you're about to sit through your first lecture from Moody, you'll need it."

* * *

"You think vigilance should only apply to your position here?" Moody barked, as he prowled around the room. "Better witches and wizards than you lot have lost their lives because of complacency. They allowed themselves to relax; to think they knew enough to protect themselves and their families, and you know what? They DIED!"

The six of them jumped for the third time in as many minutes. Shacklebolt hadn't been messing her around; they'd been sitting in the same room for two and a half hours, listening to Moody's various tangents about elementary wand safety, interpreting eye contact, and the importance of avoiding corners. She could feel the paranoia seeping into her psyche, making her twitchy and certain she would be looking over her shoulder forevermore. Plus, she really needed to pee.

They were seated at a round table, which may have looked cool and vaguely Arthurian, but the more likely reason for it was so that Moody could get equal access to each of them. Every now and then he would pause and breathe down the neck of the nearest recruit until they squirmed.

"And you can forget about your love lives. You know how many dark witches and wizards have tried to seduce _me_?"

They never got to find out; at that precise moment, the door flew open, and every recruit jumped yet again. Lupin came strolling into the room, several rolls of parchment tucked under his arm, and Tonks felt her stomach drop at the sight of him.

Ever since she'd received her letter of acceptance to the programme, she'd swung between elation and suspicion quite frequently. The elation was due to her lifelong ambition being realised, and the thought of working with the squad she had long admired. The suspicion was down to Remus Lupin's signature at the bottom of the letter, alongside those of Moody and Mimsy Pickersgill.

Why had he chosen her? Not that she wasn't grateful – she was, enormously so – but his expression at the end of her interview had suggested that would be the last time they met. So, why was she here? Had he thought it better to keep his enemies close? Or had he decided she deserved this chance – that lightning couldn't possibly strike twice? Unfortunately, the latter seemed unlikely since the Black family tree was practically a conductor.

She noticed Walden shoot up straighter in his chair too, but for an entirely different reason. It had been well-known among their year at Hogwarts that Lupin was Walden's personal hero; every mention of him in the Daily Prophet had been carefully cut out and stuck to the wall beside the younger man's bed.

"Ah, Alastor, you're just finishing up," Lupin was saying, "Lovely job."

Tonks seriously doubted Moody was anywhere near finishing, and the scowl on the older man's face seemed to back up her hypothesis.

"Far from it, Lupin. In fact, I was about to -"

"Explain the various benefits of doing your food shop in a different region every week?" Lupin nodded his approval, placing the scrolls on the desk. "I quite agree – besides the obvious security advantage, it also gives one the chance to sample the very best of fresh English produce. Do you know, they have excellent pears in one particular town in the Lake District and -"

"And an excellent opportunity for dark wizards to slip poison into your coleslaw when you're not looking!" Moody thundered at the recruits.

"I don't like coleslaw," Lupin replied, wrinkling his nose, "so I guess they'll have to find another way to get me."

He seemed completely in earnest, but Tonks noticed a slight twitch of his lips. For some reason, he was dressed in full Muggle attire instead of Auror robes, and looked oddly coordinated. Tonks knew quite a bit about Muggle fashion – her dad's family were Muggles, and she had to spend most of the major holidays with them – but most wizards couldn't comprehend the cultural difference between a monkey suit and a pair of pyjamas. However, in dark-brown khakis, a light blue shirt and navy waistcoat, Lupin would have looked right at home beside her dad's first cousin, Eric.

"Erm," Walden said, just as Moody looked ready erupt, "is that – is that likely to, erm -?"

"Speak up lad!" Moody barked, looming over him.

Walden looked as though he was trying hard not to cower in his seat. "I mean, someone trying to poison us? Does that happen often?"

"Not often, no," Lupin said, throwing Moody a warning look when the Head Auror gave a loud snort. "It happened quite a bit during the war, obviously, and a handful of times since, but generally to senior Aurors who had gathered quite a few enemies in their time. And even then, very few of them actually died."

Walden did not look at all placated by this, but nodded anyway, squaring his shoulders as though readying himself.

"Anyway," Lupin said, turning back to Moody, "You should get going, sir."

Moody's magical eye – which had been darting between each recruit for the past two hours (Tonks found comfort in the fact that Moody, at least, seemed equally suspicious of them all) – now swung to join his human one in glaring at Lupin.

"And just where should I be going?

Lupin stared at him. "Level 10 – you're due to testify before the Wizenagamot in ten minutes. The Garibaldi case?"

Moody blinked twice, muttered "bollocks" and strode from the room, slamming the door behind him.

"So!" Lupin said, clapping his hands together and smiling down at them. "Welcome back, all of you, and congratulations for making it into the programme. That is not an easy feat, so you should all be very proud of yourselves."

Miriam flushed pink, while Grayson's expression became, if possible, even more smug. Tonks was almost certain his face was stuck that way.

"Now, before we begin, I –"

The door swung open again, and a stocky man with a thick mop of brown curls stuck his head into the room.

"Remus, do you have the notes on that seizure in Cornwall last Tuesday?"

"I gave them to Savage yesterday." Lupin glanced at the recruits and gestured to the man in the doorway. "This is Auror Dawlish, one of the senior Aurors in the department."

Dawlish gave them a brief salute, and was gone.

"As I was saying – "

There was a loud knock, and the door swung open again, to reveal the tall man from the pasty incident.

"Lupin, did you want to attend that seminar on banshee handling? It's on tomorrow evening."

"I went last year actually, Rickburn. It's very informative, but I'd advise casting a muffling charm before you attend."

Rickburn grimaced a little, and also withdrew from the room.

"Okay, now that we're –"

Another knock sounded.

"Merlin's knickers!" Lupin laughed, throwing up his hands, "Do come in!"

A slim young woman with sleek black hair and a bored expression entered, her towering heels clicking as she made her way across the wooden floor. She said nothing, only handed Lupin a note, which he read quickly, scribbled on, and handed back to her.

"Alana, could I ask a favour?"

The woman paused on her way back out, raising an impeccably-shaped eyebrow in question.

"Any chance you could keep that door closed for the next twenty minutes? We have a lot to get through here."

Alana raised a second eyebrow. "You really think there is any chance of me being able to keep the vultures away from a carcass?"

Lupin looked amused. "Who's the carcass?"

"You are, obviously."

"How charming."

"Don't be offended," Alana said, rubbing at an ink spot on the back of her hand, "it's better than being a scavenger."

"If you say so. You are disinclined to help, then?"

The secretary smirked. "Depends on what's in it for me."

Lupin crossed his arms across his chest. "I _was_ considering making fudge this weekend. But, you know, if you're not bothered…"

Alana's eyes became so comically wide that her face seemed to be made up of little else. "What kind of fudge?"

"Strawberries and cream."

"Do you swear?"

"I do."

The secretary stuck out her little finger. "Do you swear on your first edition copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_?"

Lupin raised an eyebrow, and wrapped his pinkie finger around hers. "I swear."

That seemed good enough for Alana, as she nodded and promptly swept from the room, closing the door firmly behind her. Lupin noticed the recruits all staring at him and grinned. "Behold the power of well-made fudge. Now, where was I?" His forehead creased for a moment before he gave them a bright smile. "Ah yes; we were able to discuss something a little more mundane."

He pulled out a chair and sat down between Irene and Walden, the latter of whom looked as though all of his Christmases had come at once. Lupin waved his wand, and a scroll floated towards each of them.

"These are your timetables. Please study them carefully and memorise them, because I'm afraid missing class here is not an option – unless there are severe extenuating circumstances."

"What would those be, sir?" Walden asked, far too eagerly.

"Severe illness or death, generally."

Tonks laughed along with the others, but abruptly stopped when she realised Lupin hadn't joined in, and was instead watching them with a pleasant, yet abstemious, smile.

"Er, are you serious?" Tonks asked.

Lupin gave her an odd look – which was strange, considering it was a perfectly reasonable question in this context – before responding. "I'm afraid so. Broken Floos or missed alarms will not be tolerated by most of your teachers, and I've sadly seen more than one recruit asked to leave because of their punctuality, or lack thereof."

"Didn't know the Auror department cared so much about timekeeping," Grayson said, in a tone bordering on insolent, "Thought it was more about catching the bad guys."

Lupin seemed surprised, raising his eyebrows. "We're interested in both. Imagine being late to arrest a dark wizard who's performing the Cruciatus curse on his neighbour?"

Grayson's cheeks coloured slightly. Tonks felt a nasty sense of satisfaction at his discomfort.

"Moving on." Lupin gestured for them to open their scrolls. "You'll find a preliminary list of books and supplies you will need for your classes at the bottom of your scrolls. Unfortunately, your instructors are likely to change their minds regarding these every now and then, so I'd advise listening carefully in class to make sure you don't miss anything. Also, certain texts will be supplied by the department, but these cannot be removed from the office or taken home.

You will have nine different instructors, including yours truly. Each has their own style of teaching, and those of us who are Aurors have worked in the field for varying lengths of time –"

"Wait, not all of our instructors are Aurors?" Prewett interrupted, before spluttering, "I mean, beg pardon sir." Out of the corner of her eye, Tonks saw Miriam edge away from him, obviously remembering the last time he was nervous.

Lupin smiled at Theodore, and shook his head. "This training programme lasts for three years, and I'm afraid there are not enough Aurors in the department to cover the caseloads of those who teach, so we rotate. Six out of the nine instructors you will have this term are Aurors, and the others are Ministry personnel, each of whom are experts in their own fields. I will personally be training you twice a week, in Magical Creatures, and Magi-Physical Exertion."

"Don't you normally teach Advanced Charms in the first term instead, sir?" Miriam said, as Walden practically bounced in his seat with glee.

"Well, yes, but I -" Lupin broke off, frowning a little. "How on earth did you know that?"

Miriam shrugged. "I read."

Lupin looked puzzled, but moved on. "Magi-Physical Exertion – as its name suggests – will involve quite a lot of movement, so please dress appropriately. Stealth and Tracking – which is taught by Auror Shacklebolt – will also be a largely physical class, but much more about _how_ you move rather than how fast or strong you are."

"Excuse me, sir," Walden said, when Lupin paused for breath, "I've just been looking over the timetable, and it seems there's a mistake on it."

"Oh, really?" Lupin said, peering into Walden's scroll.

"Well, it's written that we have Magi-Physical Exertion on Saturdays at 7am. Should that be Fridays at 7am?"

"No, I believe Saturday is correct, Walden."

Walden's dark skin went scarlet, and he looked ready to sink into the floor.

"But, Saturdays are at ze weekend, sir," Irene said.

"Very true, Ms Brisbois, and well-observed – occasionally people forget about weekends, particularly when they have to work through them." He folded his hands together. "Being an auror is not a 9-to-5 job, and the training reflects this – in fact, it probably magnifies it, and you'll be thrown in the deep end, certainly. If you choose to remain in this career, you will have to resign yourself to the fact that your social life will often be more unpredictable than your working life."

"But, Saturdays, they are at ze weekend," Irene repeated.

Lupin smiled. "I admire your tenacity, Irene. Unfortunately, it will not exempt you from class on Saturday mornings."

Irene stared at him, but he simply continued on.

"In terms of grading, you will receive marks for both practical and written work. A large part of an Auror's job involves filing motions, logging evidence, obtaining warrants and so on. I advise you not to allow your practical training to interfere with the more, shall we say, tedious parts of the programme. It doesn't matter how good you are in the field; falling behind in your paperwork can, and often will, result in serious consequences."

Noting their stunned looks, he smiled. "I assure you, I have to do my fair share of paperwork, as do Auror Moody and all the senior and junior Aurors. Absolutely none of us are immune to it."

Lupin paused for a moment before leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table.

"I think you all know that this will be a long and demanding programme, just as being an Auror will be a challenging career. So, if you want my two Knuts' worth on how to survive your training - "

The recruits all leaned forward so eagerly that Lupin chuckled.

"_Help each other_. Working as an Auror is like participating in a team sport, only the stakes are much, much higher. You _cannot_ survive on your own. And those who try to will fail, every time."

Running a hand through his grey-flecked hair, Lupin looked suddenly weary behind his smile. "Well, any questions?"

"Sir, I was wondering –"

Whatever Prewett had been wondering was interrupted by the door crashing open, as Auror Dawlish came striding into the room. Or, rather, he tried to – Alana was firmly attached to his waist, her heels screeching and scraping across the floor and as she, in vain, attempted to drag him back.

"Remus, I believe you are to blame for this?" Dawlish said.

Lupin looked as though he was in agony from the effort of not laughing. "Yes, I'm afraid so."

Dawlish snorted and rolled his eyes as Lupin coaxed the secretary into letting go with the assurance of a brick of fudge on Monday morning.

"Shacklebolt wants you in Interview Five," Dawlish said, as Alana glared at him on her way out. "Kit's been brought in; the usual charges, with a bit of a twist this time."

"Fabulous." Lupin sighed and got to his feet. "Have you time to take our new recruits on a tour of the department?"

Dawlish looked entirely unenthused by the idea, but shrugged anyway. "Why not; I could use a break from watching Higgins and Allicante throw mopey looks at one another." He turned to the recruits. "Rule number one - never dip your nib in the office ink."

Lupin cleared his throat loudly as Irene giggled. "Well, have a lovely weekend everyone," he said, before offering them a mischievous smile. "You'll soon stop seeing the distinction between it and the rest of the week, so you may as well enjoy it while you can."

Lupin moved to leave, and as he walked past Tonks's chair, her eyes met his, and she felt a strange burst of warmth through her body that somehow made her shiver. Being so close, she could see every hint of colour threaded through his eyes; flecks of burnt orange and faded yellow stood out against the light brown, and startling hints of silver made his eyes twinkle even more as they caught the light.

And behind all that there was some emotion she couldn't quite identify. She felt herself unconsciously lean towards him, just a little, wanting to look even deeper.

But then he looked away to nod at Dawlish, and vanished from the room, and she wondered if she had imagined it all. She shook her head, trying to dispel the weird feeling in her stomach, which quickly gave way to annoyance. Lupin had been trying to confuse or intimidate her by staring her down (and possibly casting some kind of weird eye charm); that was all. Well, she wasn't going to let him, not for all the chocolate in Honeydukes!

She scrambled from her chair to follow the rest of the recruits, who had descended on Auror Dawlish and were trotting after him down the corridor, chattering like a gaggle of wild geese.

"Who's Kit?"

"Is he a dark wizard?"

"Did he kill someone?"

"Is he being interrogated?"

"Can we watch?"

"Can you lot just shut up!" Dawlish bellowed.

From her desk in the corner, Alana sniggered.

* * *

Remus had never liked Interview Room Five; it held too many bad memories. It was also unbearably warm, and while that may have done wonders in making suspects uncomfortable, it often made Remus feel as though he were suffocating. He took a deep breath before entering the room.

"Christopher, to what do I owe the pleasure this time?"

The young man raised his head from where it had been resting on the table and gave a lopsided grin. His restraints chinked off the desk as he sat up, pushing a mop of black curls from his eyes.

"Was missing you, R.J. What's with the Muggle gear?"

"Spent the night chasing trolls around the countryside, and it ruined my good robes." He closed the door behind him. "And if you were missing me so much, why not just send a postcard?"

Kit rolled his eyes. Remus nodded to the Holding Wizard standing guard in the corner and unrolled the arrest scroll Kingsley had given him, before activating the Recorder Orb floating above the table with a flick of his wand.

"Interview between Senior Auror R.J. Lupin and Christopher 'Kit' Bingley, commencing at 2:40pm, July 19th, 1991."

"Before we begin, I just want to say that I didn't do it," Kit said, poking out his bottom lip and making it quiver.

Remus sighed. "You were caught carrying counterfeit Polyjuice Potion, Kit. Seventeen flagons of it."

"I wasn't selling nought," Kit said. "I found 'em and was planning on passing them along to the appropriate agent of the law."

He waggled his eyebrows at Remus, who gave a huff of amusement as he sat down on the other side of the table.

"One of your better excuses Kit, but unfortunately you've used that one before."

The young man's forehead crinkled. "What?"

"Two years ago – the Mandrake root bulbs? Almost verbatim, really."

Kit tried to cross his arms, but the restraints kept his wrists together. "Trust you to bloody remember that."

"Well, you should try to be a little more inventive." Remus placed the scroll onto the table. "Or, you could just get out of the game entirely."

"I'm not in any game."

"Right."

Kit fidgeted with the restraints, before shaking them. "You think you could take these off? I'm hardly going to attack you, am I?"

Remus considered him for a minute, before gesturing to the Holding Wizard to remove them.

"So," he said, as Kit rubbed at his wrists and stuck his tongue out at the guard, "You're currently looking at possession of a controlled potion, possession with intent to distribute, wilful deceit, and a slew of other charges I'm sure the prosecutor will think of."

"Boys will be boys?" Kit suggested, looking a little more subdued.

Remus didn't laugh. "You're looking at a year in Azkaban, at the very least."

Kit's pale face lost its remaining colour. "What? NO! No way! No way can you lock me up for this for a YEAR – there's no proof, you-you-you can't prove I was going to sell those or-or-or…" He broke off, his breath coming out in ragged heaves. Remus wished he'd thought to bring a Calming Draught with him.

"You're a repeat offender Kit," he said, softly, "and this is the third time you have been caught with counterfeit goods. Furthermore, since Polyjuice Potion is a controlled substance, the sentence will be heavier than any of your previous ones." He paused. "I'll arrange for a Legal Aid Wizard to be assigned to you, and you he or she will advise you on your defence before you're taken down to central booking. Would you like to say anything else to me now?"

Kit said nothing, a single tear sliding down his face as he shivered in his seat. Remus felt a wave of irrational guilt as he flicked his wand at the Recorder Orb again. "Very well. Interview suspended at 2:49pm." Once the orb went dark, he laced his fingers together, leaning his forearms on the table. "Would you like me to call your grandmother?"

Kit shook his head, still staring into space. Remus watched him silently for a moment, before pushing back his own chair.

"Okay, I'll see you downstairs then."

"WAIT!"

Hands shot out and gripped Remus's wrists as he started to rise. They were yanked away a second later when the holding wizard threw Kit back into his chair none too gently.

"It's alright," Remus said, as the wizard made to reapply the restraints. He sat back down, trying to catch the gaze of the young man who was now jerkily wiping away tears.

"Kit, it'll be alright."

"No, it won't. I can't stay in that p-p-place."

Remus tried desperately not to feel sorry for him, but failed utterly. "I've told you before Kit, where all this would lead you. I've helped you all I can up until now but - "

Kit wasn't listening. "Information!" he said, eyes wide and glistening. "I'll give you information! Anything I've given you in the past has been good, hasn't it?"

Remus hesitated, before acknowledging, "It has, yes."

"So, how about it? I can tell you where the next drop of potions will be?"

Remus sighed. "I'll need more than that to recommend a reduced sentence, Kit."

"Next three deliveries? That's all I know, I swear, but I can give you names of some of th-th-the delivery boys and – and where they hang out."

"And what about your supplier?"

Kit swallowed hard, but nodded. "I can give you her name too, but I don't know where she lives. I always meet her down in Knockturn, at _The White Wyvern_."

Remus leaned back in his chair. It was a tempting offer; over the past year a wave of counterfeit potions had flooded the black market in wizarding London. Many passed through Knockturn Alley, but by the time they were discovered, the trail leading back to them had gone cold. Several groups within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had investigated, but none had ever come close to uncovering the persons behind it. Anyone dealing in dark potions was unlikely to report the fake ones, and a few lost galleons were better than incriminating yourself to law enforcement.

The Polyjuice Potion Kit had been caught with had the same signature as the others – an extra half measure of bicorn horn – and so had probably been made by the same potionmaker. How Kit had become involved with this particular group was intriguing to say the least; he usually dealt with minor, solitary dealers. And while delivery boys generally weren't entrusted with a lot of information, every tidbit he knew could be important.

"You're guaranteeing me the names of three couriers of these potions, one supplier, and any and all information you know about these people?"

Kit nodded frantically. "Yeah, yes, absolutely. It's good, I promise," he added, as Remus gave him a considering look.

After a long moment, Remus nodded. "Alright. If your information proves to be reliable, I will recommend - "

"Just one moment," another voice said.

Rufus Scrimgeour had appeared in the doorway. Remus had been so distracted he had never even heard the other man enter.

"I don't think that the names of a few minor players are sufficient for a reduced Azkaban sentence," Scrimgeour said.

"What?" Kit yelped, "How's it any of your business?"

Remus got to his feet. "Christopher, this is Auror Scrimgeour, Deputy Head of the Auror Squad."

"I'm sure he knows who I am," Scrimgeour said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. "After all, know thy enemy."

Kit blinked and glanced at Remus, who felt suddenly wary. Scrimgeour had never interrupted any of his interrogations before.

"Any information in this matter would be useful, sir," he said, evenly, "and Christopher has given us reliable information in the past."

"I'm sure when it comes to saving his own skin, he sings like a bird," Scrimgeour replied, barely sparing Kit a glance. "What we really need is a reliable stream of information on a regular basis."

"How would you get that?" Kit asked, bemused.

Remus, unfortunately, knew where this was going.

"Sir, a word in private?" he said.

Scrimgeour nodded, following him outside. Once the door closed behind them, Remus said, "You want Kit to be an informant for us?"

"You were the one who suggested that we needed one," Scrimgeour replied, "At last week's meeting?"

"Yes, but I meant an undercover agent – someone who is trained and knows how to collect information without getting themselves killed." Remus glanced back at the door. "I doubt Christopher is the right person for such a mission."

"Plenty of U.A.'s have died on the job," Scrimgeour said, raising a tawny eyebrow. "Rank is no guarantee of your safety."

"Exactly," Remus said. "Sometimes training isn't even enough. You can't go sending the kid in without any kind of preparation."

"You forget Mr Bingley is the same age as our new recruits, and we won't be asking him to infiltrate the inner circle." Scrimgeour gave a wry smile. "I highly doubt him capable of that. We simply need a way in, a means to a greater volume of information."

_A means to an end_, Remus thought, but instead said, "We would be forcing a man who's barely of age into a potentially life-threatening situation, without any ally or backup."

Scrimgeour's yellow eyes flashed, and Remus clenched his jaw, steeling himself for a fight.

"No force will be applied," Scrimgeour said, his voice barely above a whisper. "The boy has a choice: do his time in Azkaban, or do something useful for a change."

Remus had to bite back a sarcastic response. With Scrimgeour, it was best to be honest, but careful about it. "I understand that. But given the choice, sir, would you willingly choose Azkaban over any other option?"

Scrimgeour seemed amused by the question. "Those who follow the law don't have to make that sort of decision, Lupin." After a glance at his pocket watch, his manner became more businesslike. "An opportunity has been presented to us and we should not ignore it. This is the only offer that you will be authorised to make to Mr Bingley; he may take it or leave it. The choice is his, and I'm sure you will let him know exactly what either decision will entail for his future."

Scrimgeour began to move away, but turned back, an odd expression on his face that looked almost - _almost_ \- like sympathy. "You've tried to help the boy before, Remus. Now it's time to do your job, without pity or compassion." His smile was grim. "It's all we can ever do."

Remus watched his boss round the corner before leaning back against the door, dreading the moment when Kit would accept the offer, as he surely would. After all, who would choose Azkaban?

Eventually, he turned the door handle and re-entered a room which was now more suffocating than ever.

* * *

**AN: **Thanks for reading guys! Please drop a review - they brighten my day so much :)


	6. Misinformation

**AN:** What's this? Another update? IrishCailin16 is on a roll with 2017! As always, thanks to my lovely readers, followers and reviewers – you guys are simply the best.

_**VlightPhase**_, you are quite right in that this fic is taking a while to get started. _Recruits _has been floating around in my head for a long time, and I wanted to set up the universe properly so that everything makes sense going forward. These next few chapters should be more action-packed - and full of our main characters :)

Disclaimer: please note that the final third of this chapter contains paraphrased material (and sometimes almost direct quotes) from 'Harry Potter and The Philosopher's Stone', chapter three. And I am not the fabulous J.K. Rowling.

Enjoy!

**Chapter Five**

**_Misinformation_**

_**Saturday, 28th July, 1991**_

Of three things, Tonks was absolutely certain.

**Certainty Number 1:** Aurors were some of the weirdest people around.

Each member of the squad seemed to have their own individual quirk – and generally more than one, at that.

The most benign of Alastor Moody's was that he kept several dozen dark detectors in his office, and carried a sneakoscope everywhere with him. Dawlish had to start each morning with a salutation to the sun god (whomever that was) and drink a pint of Wellness Potion before he could sit down to work. Proudfoot, the olive-skinned witch Tonks had sort-of met on her first day, spent at least an hour each day cataloguing every item in her office and casting dark detection spells over each scroll, quill and ink bottle she owned, to ensure nothing was missing or had been tampered with.

Lupin appeared to have an endless supply of chocolate on his person at all times, which seemed rather unusual for such a slender (and fully grown) man. Even Kingsley Shacklebolt – who on her initial encounter with him had seemed almost normal – insisted on eating a full roast chicken every day to maintain his muscle mass.

It seemed to be a rite of passage, to develop some sort of personal oddity, so perhaps Tonks should choose one before one chose her. Become known as the person who only ate vegetables whose names contained three or more syllables? (That ruled out parsnips, though, and she wasn't sure she could fight the forces of darkness without her mother's honey-roasted dish on Christmas.) Or the person who kept some sort of unusual pet as a bodyguard, like a wolf or a niffler. A niffler might prove problematic if anyone wore jewellery or carried money though…

She supposed she could just be the Auror-in-training with eccentric hair, but she wasn't sure if that would pass muster as peculiar enough. After all, Rickburn had trained his family of pet lemmings to spy on his neighbours, simply to find out who had been stealing the roses from his rose bushes.

**Certainty Number 2:** She wouldn't get any sleep for the next three years of her life.

Classes began at 8am every morning – except Mondays, when the entire Auror squad met for a staff meeting – and even though they were only a week in, she was already exhausted. Each instructor expected them to put one hundred percent into _their_ class and the workload was already piling up – books to read, spells to practice and potions to prepare. How anyone could retain all that knowledge seemed impossible (and slightly ludicrous), and yet nobody except the recruits seemed to see any issue with it. Hopefully her brain would expand to accommodate it all.

Tonks knew before she even began that Stealth and Tracking would be the thorn in her side – or her bottom, depending on what way she fell over. Ten minutes into the first class and she found herself flat on her back, having tripped over Walden's foot as they practiced quietly walking backwards over piles of seashells. As the others howled with laughter, she had accepted Shacklebolt's hand up and clambered to her feet, face burning and determined to do better. Of course, when she found herself piled on top of Miriam and Theodore five minutes later – having fallen over her own feet, this time – she knew this was only the beginning of a long and humiliating battle against her own clumsiness.

However, Concealment and Disguise helped to ease the blow of this knowledge, somewhat – after all, this was _her_ subject. While the others attempted to cast illusion charms to lengthen their ear lobes, she swayed back and forth, sometimes slapping Grayson in the face with her own morphed, metre-length ones. The instructor – a hulking Auror named McAuliffe – had been almost giddy at the sight, clapping his large hands together and measuring how long she could grow her lobes with a tape. She was glad his reaction had been so encouraging; ever since news of her abilities had spread throughout the department, she could see an awareness of the possibilities light the eyes of some of the men. On her third day, she overheard a group of Junior Aurors speculating how large she could morph her breasts and how small she could make other parts of herself. Likewise, every time she walked past his office, Everett Savage winked at her - a feat which would have earned one of the boys at Hogwarts a swift strike in an unpleasant area. Unfortunately, she didn't think that kicking a Senior Auror in the gonads was the best way to progress her career, so she was forced to simply ignore him and hope that he, and the rest of them, would eventually get bored. Experience told her that it would probably take a while.

In Auror Administration, they had all tried to stay awake as they spent hours learning the correct way to sign and stamp parchments, instructed by a grey-bunned administrative witch who looked as old as the Ministry itself. There was a slight air of Professor McGonagall about her, too; when Theodore accidentally dropped an ink bottle, the woman's nostrils flared so wide Tonks feared they might engulf him.

The only upside to having A.A. first thing on a Tuesday morning was that they were well-rested for their Potions class that afternoon. The Potions instructor, Bergfalk, was a kindly non-Auror from the Forensic Potion Team, who spoke with just a hint of a Norwegian accent and wore sickly-sweet cologne. While patient and helpful, he was also not entirely dissimilar to Snape in that he glided silently about the room, scaring the life out of the recruits as he peered over their shoulders without warning.

If she had thought Snape's NEWT-level class hard, it was nothing compared to Auror-level Potions, which often used ingredients she'd never heard of to counteract spells and poisons she never knew existed. She had always excelled at Potions, even receiving an Outstanding NEWT (much to Snape's displeasure), but this was another step up entirely.

In an effort to stay on top of things, she had begun to practice some of the more common potions that Aurors used when she got home every night. The kitchen in the small apartment she shared with her roommate, Mattie, now stank from the various potions she had brewing all at once. Simmering cauldrons were perched on top of chairs and piles of books, while her latest concoction – a first attempt at Veritaserum – sat in the middle of the kitchen table, occasionally hiccuping bubbles that smelled like burnt treacle.

"Jeez, do you not think you're taking this training programme a bit seriously?" Mattie said on Friday night, as she opened the kitchen window. The incoming breeze did nothing to disperse the purple cloud billowing out of Tonks's cauldron. "It's only your first week!"

"Not really," Tonks replied. "They expect a high standard." She sniffed the Veritaserum. "Hmm, needs more eye-of-newt, I think."

Mattie handed her the jar and picked up Tonks's timetable, reading aloud:

**"In Year One, Semester One, students will take the following classes:**

_**Advanced Potion Making and Poison Detection**_

_**Auror Administration, Rules and Regulations**_

_**Basic Personal Defence**_

_**Basic Stealth and Tracking**_

_**Concealment and Disguise**_

_**Extreme Spellwork**_

_**Magical Creatures**_

_**Magical Law and Circumstance**_

_**Magi-Physical Exertion**_

**Please note that failure to pass any of these classes will result in immediate expulsion from the programme – no exceptions will be made, though crying is always appreciated."**

She put the scroll down with a whistle, brushing her blonde dreadlocks back over her shoulder. "Jeez, they don't expect a lot, do they?"

"I guess they want the dark wizard catchers to know more than the dark wizards themselves," Tonks replied, frowning at her potion. It still didn't smell right.

"Tea?"

Mattie pulled herself up onto the worktop next to the window and flicked her wand towards the kettle to boil it. Although they had been in different houses at Hogwarts, Tonks and Mattie had been casual friends for years. Both had been free spirits with wild hair and an unwillingness to choose the more 'ladylike' careers their mothers had wanted for them. Now that they were both training at the Ministry, they had decided to live together, renting a small flat on the outskirts of Peckham. Mattie had been recruited by the RCMC during their final year at Hogwarts, to join the Ghoul Task Force, after helping an elderly neighbour banish a ghoul from her oven on Christmas Eve. The woman's nephew, who was the deputy head of the GTF, had called round the following evening with a sherry trifle and a job offer.

"So, how was your first week overall?" Mattie asked, pouring water into two cups.

"Exhausting," Tonks said, measuring out a quarter cup of powdered bat tongue, "but brilliant."

It was true; she could never remember being so tired in her life, but she went to bed exhilarated every evening. She hoped the feeling would last past the training phase; this was a feeling she could definitely get used to it.

"And what about that Lupin guy? He giving you any attitude?"

Tonks shook her head. "No."

Mattie raised her eyebrows. "You sound surprised."

Tonks shrugged. Her roommate didn't push her for an answer; occasional disinterest in others was one of Mattie's best qualities. Instead, she started poking around the cupboards in search of the Ginger Newts, leaving Tonks to mull over the matter in peace.

She wasn't sure what she had expected from Lupin. After the weird moment at the end of their induction meeting, Tonks had tried to figure him out. What did he think of her? Why had he chosen her for the programme? Did he regret his decision? Did she care? (She had even taken a peek at one of Mattie's ridiculous books on interpreting eye-contact – which sounded like a book Moody might actually enjoy – before realising how ridiculous she was and tossing it aside).

Eventually, she had just decided to play it cool. Let it all take care of itself – let faith or destiny or whatever take its course and all would become clear in time. Which had actually led her to her final certainty:

**Certainty Number 3:** Remus Lupin did not trust her. At all.

He hid it very well, which was annoying. Tonks would have preferred if he openly and honestly disliked her – then they could be office enemies and there would be no ambiguity between them. Instead, he insisted on speaking to her the same way he spoke to the other recruits: with kindness, patience and encouragement. In their first Magical Creatures class with him, she had tripped over a chair and done an impressively dramatic tumble across the room, landing hard on her arse in front of him. It would have been a perfect moment to criticise her for her ungainliness or make some sort of joke at her expense, but he did neither. He simply helped her to her feet and asked if she was alright, with what sounded like genuine concern.

The prick.

No, it wasn't his actions that had first given him away, but rather a feeling that Tonks couldn't shake. One that she hadn't voiced to anyone else, as she was sure they'd tell her it was only her imagination or that she was unbelievably self-involved. And maybe she was, but in Moody's first lecture (rant, might have been a better term) he had told them never to ignore a gut feeling, and that was exactly what this was.

She could feel Lupin watching her.

Even when he wasn't in the room, she could feel his eyes, as though he could somehow see through walls or around corners, following her down corridors and across the Ministry itself. And anytime they were in the same room as each other, she would look up to find him concentrating on something else entirely, his eyes nowhere near her. Yet, the feeling persisted.

Maybe she was paranoid. Maybe it was all in her head, and he had decided that he didn't care that she was who she was. But some part of her knew that he was keeping an eye on her, just in case. And that bothered her, more than she wanted to admit. So, in an effort to catch him out, she began to watch _him_ more, in return. And while she would vehemently deny it under threat of a Stinging Jinx, she found him somewhat intriguing.

Only somewhat, mind.

For one, if she hadn't known he was an Auror, she would have sworn he was a professor of some sort. While some of her other instructors were occasionally impatient, or interrupted classes for their own personal work, Lupin was focused and engaging, encouraging them to embrace the subjects he taught rather than just learn them.

In their Magical Creature classes, he demonstrated an impressively extensive knowledge of a whole host of light and dark creatures, and also owned a vast collection of books and intricate diagrams that were clearly not Ministry standard issue. Walden informed her that it might have been a family pursuit – that Lupin's father had been a world-renowned authority on Non-Human Spirituous Apparitions – and that certainly seemed a plausible theory for all the random information he possessed.

For example, when Irene admitted she had a fear of trolls, Lupin had them in stitches with a hilarious anecdote of an incident, during his own training, when he and Dawlish had become trapped in a basement with a female troll for an hour and managed to flirt their way out, as trolls were often susceptible to human charm. He also knew the most obscure facts about Flobberworms, such as their dislike of cashmere jumpers, their love of hot mustard, and the chemical makeup of their saliva.

"Hang on, you're saying that Flobberworm saliva can actually knock you out?" Grayson asked in disbelief, during their Wednesday class.

Lupin nodded. "Absolutely. It has extremely potent sedative qualities and if you're hit with a high enough dosage, the effects can be quite severe. The Head Girl during my final year at Hogwarts was an unfortunate bystander during a prank involving said substance, and spent two days unconscious in the Hospital Wing. She was not amused, as you can imagine."

"Looks like Flobberworms are good for something after all," Walden whispered to Tonks, who sniggered back.

"You were Head Boy at Hogwarts, weren't you, sir?" Miriam said.

"Erm, yes," Lupin replied, with a lopsided smile. "I'm not entirely sure why Dumbledore made that particular appointment, but yes, I was."

_Goody-good_, Tonks thought, unkindly. The Head Boy and Girl in her year had been the biggest suck-ups imaginable, even going so far as to compliment Snape on the "swishiness" of his cloak. She could just imagine Lupin, badge pinned to his chest, winning over every Hogwarts professor with his pearly-white smile and easy manners. If he had married the Head Girl, it would have been like something from a Muggle movie. She instinctively glanced at his left hand. No ring – guess not.

As though he had somehow heard her thoughts, Lupin's eyes darted over to meet hers, and she cursed herself. What if he was a Legilimens? However, after a moment he looked away again without so much as raising an eyebrow and she let out a quiet breath of relief, internally rolling her eyes at herself. The day before, Miriam had somehow unearthed a list of all the Legilimens on the Auror force and Scrimgeour and Proudfoot were the only two registered. Still, the others might have had some training in Legilimency – she needed to be more careful with her thoughts.

However, aside from Tonks's intuition, it wasn't until their Magi-Physical Exertion class on Saturday morning that Lupin's distrust of her became apparent. And, ironically, that was exactly when she made it worse.

(-)(-)(-)

At 6:45am, the recruits met at the Ministry and used the designated Portkey to travel to a field on the outskirts of Bath for their first lesson. Fifty metres away from them sat a deserted farmhouse, its yard dusty and desolate, while on the far side of the field a dense crop of Beech trees stretched back several hundred yards, before sloping downhill and out of sight.

Tonks blew out a breath, tugging at her t-shirt as she looked up at the sky. Even at this hour of the morning, the heat of the day was already making itself known. It promised to be another scorcher.

"I should be catching up on my beauty sleep," Irene complained, looking remarkably well-rested.

"Or doing something in bed other than sleeping," Grayson said, nudging Walden with his elbow. Tonks tried not to gag.

"Lupin isn't even here yet," Theodore said. "So much for the 7am start."

"Good morning everyone."

Lupin had appeared behind Miriam, who jumped in surprise and subsequently tried to pretend she was warming up.

"I was just doing a lap of the field. It rained here yesterday evening, but the ground seems fairly solid, so we're good to go." It was very odd to see him in casual clothing, and even more disturbing that Tonks noticed his muscles through his dark blue t-shirt.

"I'd like you all to do two laps of the field," Lupin said, "in order to gauge your fitness levels. This is just to assess whether or not we can progress the class at a steady pace, or if we should do some extra fitness training beforehand. And remember, it's not a race –"

None of the recruits heard him – they had all taken off running.

While Tonks was not the most fit, she was by no means the least either, and found herself finishing third, behind Theodore – who was alarmingly quick – and Walden.

"Excellent," Lupin said, as Irene casually jogged past the finish line, apparently unconcerned by the competition between the others. "It appears that there isn't much difference in your stamina or speed at the moment, which will make training as a group a lot easier. So, follow me."

Instead of leading them back up the field, he brought them to the edge of the treeline. Pulling out his wand, he waved it in a quick series of complicated patterns before tucking it away again. Through the leaves, Tonks could see the twinkle of magic sparkling between the trees.

Lupin waited patiently for them all to gather around him before he began to speak.

"Today's class will be a fairly simple introduction to the idea behind Magi-Physical Exertion. Often an enemy attacking you will not stand still to politely engage you in a duel, nor allow you a pause to heal yourself or someone else. You will need to know how to perform advanced spells while moving or concentrating on something else entirely. Magi-Physical Exertion will teach you to divide your focus no matter what part of the brain is being used, and force you to develop your magic to an even greater extent."

Tonks felt a thrill rush through her at the thought. This was what she wanted to be doing – not stuck in a tiny room stamping parchments, but out in the world learning proper skills that would progress her magic. Her wand arm began to tremble in suspense, and she quickly forced herself to listen as Lupin began to instruct them.

"Your objective for this class is simply this: to reach the end of the wood in less than thirty minutes, hitting as many targets as you can. You'll be working in pairs – Irene and Theodore, Miriam and Walden, Grayson and Nymphadora."

"Just Tonks, sir," she prompted, politely.

He inclined his head at her. "Begging your pardon, Tonks. So, are we all ready?"

Fifteen minutes later, they were moving along at a steady pace down the wooded hill. The magically-animated targets varied, from tiny butterfly-like glimmers of light fluttering through the air, to animal-esque creatures peering out from behind the trees.

"This is too easy," Grayson scoffed in an undertone. He shot a stream of yellow sparks from his wand, blasting a target that was dangling from a tree branch like a monkey.

Tonks didn't reply, instead aiming a Stunning Spell at a target poking its head out of a bush. Five minutes ago she would have agreed, but she had also noticed that the targets were becoming more numerous and increasingly more difficult to hit. She also had no idea how far they were from the edge of the wood; a wall of green lay below them, with no end in sight. It might not be as easy as they assumed to finish on time.

To her right, Walden and Miriam were scuttling along, back to back, as they hurled a variety of spells at their own targets. Behind them, Irene and Theodore jogged alongside one another, occasionally ducking when the other decided to fire a spell without warning.

Lupin strolled along just behind them. Despite being quite tall and long-limbed, he moved with an unusual elegance and graceful economy of movement that would be more fitting to a Veela than a human male. He also moved quietly – not like Bergfalk whose feet seemed barely to make contact with the ground – but rather like someone who was more comfortable observing than being observed, and didn't particularly want their presence announced. Tonks wished he would walk in front of them; she didn't like that she couldn't see his face.

She blasted another target with a well-aimed hex and stole a glance to see him watching her, nodding his head in approval. As if the woods knew she wasn't paying attention to her feet at that particular moment, she caught her toe in a thick tree root and stumbled, causing her next Stunner to fly wildly off course, narrowly missing Theodore.

Grayson laughed loudly. "Wow, nice effort."

Tonks's fingers clenched around her wand as she straightened up, quickly morphing her scarlet cheeks back to white.

"Shut it," she muttered, glancing at Lupin, who was now speaking quietly to Miriam about a jinx she had been attempting to cast, "or you'll be growing mould out of your nostrils for a week."

"Please, like you could hit an animated object a metre in front of you without falling over your own two feet."

The grip on her wand was becoming almost painful, but she willed herself to ignore him. She needed to hit something - where was the next target? She quickly caught sight of one, but Grayson hit it before she could raise her wand.

"Uh-oh, not giving me the silent treatment, are you Tonks?"

She needed another target, but Walden and Miriam were now much closer to them and were blasting through them all.

"However will I live without your annoying girly voice twittering in my ear?"

She could practically feel the blood boiling underneath her skin. Grayson had spent the entire week criticising her, laughing whenever she made a mistake. What was wrong with him? Why wouldn't he leave her the hell alone and go back to his rich family?

Grayson hit another target and smirked. "I wonder if they only let you into the programme out of pity," he said, quietly. "Why else hire a half-breed from a psycho family?"

Before Tonks could stop herself, or realise what a bad idea this was, her wand was pointed at him and the incantation had left her lips.

But Grayson ducked.

A few metres behind him, Lupin's eyes widened briefly as the jet of yellow light headed straight for him.

And then the hex hit an old tree, covering its trunk in a thick layer of black mould that continued to sprout at an alarming rate. If the circumstances had been different, Tonks would have been quite proud of her spellwork.

"Interesting choice of hex," Lupin said evenly, pulling himself into a sitting position. He had hit the ground just in time and his entire left side was now caked with mud. "I do believe you were aiming in the wrong direction though, Ms. Tonks."

"I'm sorry sir, I was – I was –"

What could she say – that she had been aiming at another recruit, not him? That would hardly go over well. She froze; she couldn't think of anything to say. Why couldn't she think of anything to say?

Lupin watched her for a moment, and without a word turned back to the others.

"Everyone, as you were," he said, "ten minutes remaining."

"Nice save," Grayson muttered at her, but she barely heard him. She was too troubled by Lupin's expression as he had turned away from her.

He hadn't seemed the least bit surprised by what she had done. In fact, he had looked almost relieved – like he had been waiting all this time for her to show her hand.

For the rest of the morning, Lupin barely even looked in her direction again. But he never relaxed the grip he held on his wand, even as he congratulated them all on making it to the finish line with a minute to spare, and Walden and Miriam on hitting the most number of targets between them. As he wished them all a nice weekend and held out the Portkey for them to return with, his eyes caught hers and held them.

No, Remus Lupin certainly did not trust her.

* * *

_**Sunday, 29**__**th**__** July  
**_  
Of three things Harry was absolutely certain._**  
**_

Firstly, that Monday could not come soon enough. Remus was working through the weekend so that he could take the week of Harry's birthday off. He was going to pick him up Monday lunchtime, kicking off six gloriously Dursley-free days for Harry, with his godfather no less. He was so excited that he thought he might actually be sick.

Secondly, that Uncle Vernon had officially lost his mind.

It had all started at breakfast on Tuesday, when the post arrived. Uncle Vernon had barked at Harry to go and fetch it, as usual, and Harry, as usual, complied (albeit grudgingly). Sitting on the mat were an array of bills, a postcard from Vernon's sister, Marge, and a letter addressed to:

_**Mr and Mrs Vernon Dursley  
Uncle and Aunt to Mr Harry Potter  
4 Privet Drive  
Little Whinging  
Surrey**_

A letter about _him_?

He stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. Was it from his old school? Was he in trouble? That seemed unlikely – it was summer, after all, and he was finally finished primary school, so they shouldn't care about him anymore. Plus, there was no postmark on the yellow envelope and no stamp. He squinted at the purple wax seal, which was made up of four animals wrapped around a large 'H'. Perhaps it was junk mail, or a company trying to sell the Dursleys school uniforms for him. He almost laughed; Remus always paid for everything for him, or else he probably would have wound up with Dudley's old clothes. The company should have sent his godfather the letter instead.

The colour was rising in Uncle Vernon's cheeks when Harry finally returned to the kitchen.

"What took so long, boy?" he barked, and Harry shrugged, handing over the stack of letters.

He returned to his breakfast as his uncle opened the post, watching the man closely. First Uncle Vernon glanced at the bill, snorted and muttered something about "thieving politicians" and picked up the postcard.

"Oh dear, Marge is ill," he informed Aunt Petunia, who was peering out the kitchen window, inspecting the new pergola their neighbours had erected.

Harry thought he was going to bounce off his chair with impatience when his uncle finally picked up the yellow envelope, stared at the address and then fixed his beady eyes on Harry.

"What's this then, boy?" he barked. "Been getting into trouble at school again?"

Dudley gave Harry a sly grin and poked him with the cane provided by his new school, Smeltings.

"Why would they be writing over the summer?" Aunt Petunia said, tearing her gaze away from the pergola. "It's probably those wretched salespeople again, throw it away Vernon."

But Uncle Vernon, who had extracted the letter and begun to read it, made a horrible choking sound, his face now the colour of sour milk.

"P-P-Petunia!" he gasped, his eyes wide and bulging.

Dudley reached for the letter, but Uncle Vernon pushed his hand away, showing it to Aunt Petunia instead, who clutched her throat and let out a wail.

"What is it?" Harry said, flabbergasted. "What does it say?"

He, too, reached for the letter, but Uncle Vernon grabbed him and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks, hauled them out of their chairs and threw them into the hallway, slamming the kitchen door behind them. Dudley listened at the keyhole – after swiftly winning a fist-fight with Harry for it – while Harry himself lay on the floor, pressing his ear to the crack underneath the door.

"We swore that we'd stamp that nonsense out of him," Uncle Vernon said, his voice shrill. "Lupin being around must've gotten in the way. We should have kept him out of it from day one!"

"What should we do, Vernon? It says here that they're expecting a reply from us, to say we received the letter. We can't exactly ignore it; _he'll_ know, he told us it would be coming. Remu-"

"No-one will know," Uncle Vernon interrupted, firmly, and Harry heard the sound of paper being ripped apart. "We never got it – end of story."

Dudley and Harry looked at one another in confusion. Just what was going on?

(-)(-)(-)

If Uncle Vernon thought that that was the end of it, he was sorely mistaken. Each day, more letters came with the morning post, and once Uncle Vernon had nailed the letterbox shut, they began to appear in more unusual ways – slid underneath the door front, tossed like frisbees through open windows and even rolled up in and hidden inside egg cartons. Harry had tried in vain to seize one of these letters before his uncle did, but Vernon was always there faster, even going so far as to camp out at the bottom of the stairs in a sleeping bag (where he was accidentally stood on by Harry).

"Hey kid," Remus said, when he called on Friday night, "Anything exciting going on over there?"

Harry glanced at the kitchen doorway where Uncle Vernon stood watching him, and wished (not for the first time) that the Dursleys had bought a cordless phone so he could talk to Remus privately.

"Nope, nothing exciting," he lied.

"That's alright," Remus said, cheerily. "I have lots of things planned for next week."

"Sounds great," Harry said, wishing Monday would come even sooner. Uncle Vernon crossed his arms, moustache twitching, and Harry mournfully bid Remus goodbye.

As Sunday morning dawned, Harry crossed off another day on his calendar with a thick, black marker. He thought about just hiding in his room all day, but Aunt Petunia was sure to find a list of chores for him to do before he left for the week. Plus, maybe he could finally catch hold of a letter?

"Only one day," he said to himself, as he walked slowly down the stairs. "Just one day."

Uncle Vernon sat at the kitchen table, his breakfast forgotten in front of him as he tugged at his moustache, his beady eyes flitting here and there.

"Would you like the Sunday paper, Vernon?" Aunt Petunia said. She prodded him on the shoulder with it, looking rather perturbed by his behaviour.

Uncle Vernon looked at her in surprise. "It's Sunday? SUNDAY?" He laughed loudly and gleefully, making Aunt Petunia jump, and seized the newspaper from her.

"No post on Sundays," he said, slattering the front page with marmalade, "no damn letters today –"

Suddenly, something came pelting down the kitchen chimney and shot out to whack Uncle Vernon on the back of the head. He turned round with a yell, just in time to see dozens of letters zoom out of the fireplace. Harry tried to grab one, but his uncle seized him around the waist and threw him out into the hall.

"Pack a bag," he bellowed at Harry, as Aunt Petunia and Dudley came running out after them, "we're leaving!"

Was Uncle Vernon going to drop him off early? He had plenty of gear in his room at Remus's, but Harry practically scrambled up the stairs anyway, stuffed some more clothes and shoes into his rucksack and sprinted back downstairs again, heading out the front door. A few moments later, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon emerged, the latter shoving along a wailing Dudley, who was clutching his own bag. In fact, each Dursley was carrying a bag; that didn't seem right.

"Hang on, are we _all_ going somewhere?" Harry said. Uncle Vernon didn't reply, but merely shoved him into the backseat of the car and closed the door. Dudley climbed in beside him, sniffling and looking daggers at his father.

"Where are we going?" Harry repeated, "Remus is collecting me tomorrow; I have to tell him –"

"You'll tell him nothing, boy," Uncle Vernon snarled, pulling out of the driveway so fast that he knocked over Number 5's bins. "And he won't be taking you anywhere!"

This was insane. Harry tried to open his door to get out, but the handle wouldn't work. He gave it a few swift yanks, but it was no use, and he swiftly became certain of a third thing:

That Uncle Vernon had put the child-lock on.

As the car squealed out of Privet Drive, the last thing Harry noticed, as he miserably pressed his face against the glass pane, was the fluttering of curtains in Mrs Figg's front window.

* * *

**AN:** Uh-oh, how will our intrepid hero make it out of the back of his uncle's car? Guess you'll just have to tune in next time to find out!

PS: Reviewers get to roll around in the mud with Remus ;)


	7. Opposition

**AN: **Happy weekend, my lovely readers! This will probably be my last update for the next few weeks as I'm working towards a submission deadline for original fiction – wish me luck! Hoping you are all having a fabulous 2017 so far :)

PS: RT shippers, this chappie will be a rough one…

**Disclaimer:** Still not J.K. Rowling – I am but a humble enthusiast of her work!

* * *

**Chapter Six**

_**Opposition**_

_The floor felt like a sheet of ice. He knew, because he was lying on it._

_It was near dawn, it had to be._

_He pushed himself up on one elbow, only to collapse onto his chest again. He had never felt so weak in all his life – unless one counted the night his father had died, which he generally didn't. That was more of a nightmare than real life. _

_Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he rolled onto his side. Even now, the dust was still clearing, billowing about in clouds so thick he could barely see his hand in front of his face. Had anyone survived? He knew McNamara had fallen; he had seen the light leave her eyes as Rodolphus's curse caught her full in the chest. He felt an ache in his chest that he knew was his heart, but struggled to repress it. He would mourn his friend later. Right now he needed to find Gladshaw, if he was still alive. He needed to get to him before they did. _

_He struggled to listen, but for a moment there was nothing more than the thud-thud-thud of his own heart, drowning out everything else. Then – there it was! Breathing, shallow and hitching; Gladshaw's asthma must have been playing up again. He had to be nearby, somewhere. _

_Reaching out, his fingers grasped blindly in the dirt, until finally they grazed something warm and distinctly human, and felt a groan in response. _

_ "Kid…" the older man wheezed, "you should…" _

_Gladshaw trailed off for a moment and then muttered something unintelligible, before lapsing into an exhausted silence. _

_If only he could get closer, he might be able to apparate them both out of there. Or splinch them both in the process, but at least they would escape. He reached his hand out farther._

_Suddenly, a shadow emerged from the dust and an unyielding pressure flattened his arm to the ground. He gritted his teeth against the pain as he felt the bones in his wrist move out of place._

_ "Just where do you think you're going?" she said, her voice soft and full of laughter as she cast the spell that turned his skin to fire._

Remus woke with a jolt, his hand already gripping his wand. He tried to move, but panic had flattened him on his back, rendering him immobile.

_Location and situation! _Moody's voice said, in his head. _Learn your location and situation – NOW!_

Okay, okay, deduction number 1: he was lying on something soft and warm, not hard and frozen, so he was no longer on a floor. Deduction number 2: his wrist didn't hurt; in fact, no part of him did. So, he probably wasn't being tortured.

He turned his head to the right, recognising the dark green curtains and the smell of cedar in the air, and the pressure in his lungs began to lift as he came to a relieving conclusion.

He was in his bed. He was safe at home.

He allowed himself to take a few deep breaths before sitting up slowly, staring into the shadows. Nothing stared back. The room was dark and still, a few threads of early morning sunlight wheedling their way through a narrow slit in the curtains. The only breathing besides his own was slow and even, coming from the dark-haired woman lying beside him, still soundly encased in slumber. Remus sighed, running a hand down his face.

It had been a memory, nothing more. Bellatrix was in Azkaban with what remained of her comrades and Remus was still alive. His hand trembled, just a little, as he slid his wand back under his pillow.

Over the years, the dreams had become less frequent, but when they did surface, they were no less real to him than the reality itself had been. With Nymphadora Tonks's appointment to the Auror Squad, however, they had begun to increase in number until they were almost every night. If this kept up, he would have to start taking the Potion for Dreamless Sleep again.

Faye sighed in her sleep, snuggling deeper into the covers beside him. He watched her quietly for a few minutes as his heart rate began to slow again. Although it had only been six months since she had asked him out (something which never failed to make him feel a tad smug), he was sure he was falling hard for her. Faye was intelligent, witty, beautiful, and seemed to genuinely care about him. And although he hadn't told her his darkest secret yet, he hoped that soon…maybe soon. He knew she wouldn't be afraid of him, but could she accept the knowledge of what he was? It was a lot to ask, but if anyone could handle it, it would be her. If anyone could accept him, it would be her.

Slipping quietly out of bed, Remus padded down the corridor and shut himself in the bathroom, whispering a spell to open the hidden cabinet below the sink. Dozens of potion vials were lined up neatly, separated by their strength and frequency of use. Kingsley had set up the system – being the obsessive organiser that he was – and even though he no longer lived there, Remus couldn't bring himself to change it.

"Hmm, which one to choose?" Remus muttered to himself as he perused the collection of potions.

The full moon was only one night past and he still felt as though he'd been hit by a Muggle car. Kingsley's potions were the only remedies that helped. He plucked out a large vial of Strengthening Solution and another of Magical Muscle Mender and knocked them both back, wincing a little at the taste of the latter. He knew potion-making was an exact science – for seven years, Severus Snape had informed him of that each time Remus's cauldron bubbled over or emitted strange odours during class. But why couldn't they be designed to at least taste a little better?

"I've heard talk of this new potion called Wolfsbane," Kingsley had informed him as they ate Chinese takeaway together on Friday, "made by this German bloke. Apparently, it allows the drinker to retain their human mind during the transformation. I'm going to track down the paper he wrote about it."

To Remus, it sounded too good to be true. A potion which would allow him to retain his sanity rather than descend into the madness that accompanied the physical transformation? It seemed more likely that Dolores Umbridge – Senior Undersecretary and all-round bigot – would publicly declare her love of vampires and offer them her body as a sacrifice.

Oh, if only.

Still, Kingsley had been so excited by this Wolfsbane discovery that Remus couldn't bear to tell him it was probably a hoax. That nothing could change his condition.

Remus would always be a werewolf.

Oddly, he was reminded of Nymphadora Tonks. Strange that they had that in common – both shapeshifters who could become completely unrecognisable from who they truly were. In a different world, that might have endeared her to him, but…

He sighed, closing the bathroom cabinet again. As much as he had wanted to believe she could be different, her little stunt in the forest had proven her just as volatile as the traitor Sirius Black. He had been keeping a close eye on her all week, and her drive and determination had really impressed him. She was sharp, never needing to be told anything twice and picking up new spells in the blink of an eye. And, of course, her skill at morphing was nothing short of outstanding.

Still, even with her talent and dedication, what if she too was akin to an Erumpent horn – primed to explode with the slightest spark? What if the same madness lay within her as it had in Bellatrix, only she just didn't know it yet? He shivered; that was a terrifying thought.

Returning to his room, he softly shut the door before sliding back into bed. He felt his heart speed up again, just a little, as Faye rolled over, blinking and stretching out her long legs with a sigh. "What time is it?"

"A little after six," Remus said, letting his eyes rove over her body, which had slipped free of the sheets.

Faye smirked, running a hand down his chest. "Good. Then I guess we have a little time…" Her hand slipped lower.

Thank Merlin for Kingsley's potions.

(-)(-)(-)

An hour and a half later, they exited the Floo into the already bustling Ministry atrium. A trio of goblins walked past them, discussing the latest interest rates at Gringotts, and were almost bowled over by a group of reporters and photographers in pursuit of the portly Minister, who was singing his own praises about something or other.

"I'll see you later in the week, then, after you've had your talk with Harry?" Faye said quietly, slipping her hands into his.

Remus nodded. "I'd like for you to meet him, finally."

Faye grinned. "I'd like that too." She rose up on her toes to kiss him and he leaned in, savouring the feel of her soft lips against his. And then she was gone, hips swaying as she moved towards the elevators on the opposite side of the atrium. With a final look, Remus turned and made his way up the staircase instead to Level Two, whistling cheerfully.

Alana raised a plucked eyebrow as he entered the department. "Having a good morning already, Lupin?"

Remus adopted a thoughtful expression. "You know what, Alana, it hasn't been too bad. And happy birthday, by the way."

The secretary looked startled. "How did you know?"

"It's the same day as it was last year." He extracted a small parcel from his pocket and placed it on top of a stack of notes on her desk. "Special birthday fudge. Try not to eat it all in one go – there's so much sugar in it, you might actually rot your teeth as you eat it."

Alana stared at the parcel for a long moment and then looked up at him, her usual aloofness momentarily cast aside. "Thank you, Lupin. Really."

He smiled at her and continued down the corridor, nodding to a few of his colleagues as he passed them.

The next few days would be interesting, to say the least. He hadn't a clue how Harry would react to the truth of who he was – who they both were, really. And for Harry, being a wizard was only the least of it – although he was fairly certain that his godson would be pleased about _that_ particular news. But the rest of it… Coming to terms with his powers would be challenging enough, but having to consciously be The Boy Who Lived, forevermore?

Remus had wanted to tell Harry the truth years ago, but Dumbledore's belief that the boy would be happier living an ordinary childhood had convinced him otherwise. And maybe a Muggle upbringing had been good for him, taught him not to rely on magic or fame for his own happiness.

But now, faced with the enormity of it all, he wasn't so sure. It would be a lot for Harry to take in. The kid was strong, but nobody should ever have to deal with so much, and especially not at such a young age.

With a nod to Dawlish as he passed him, Remus ducked into his office to quickly check his inbox, delighting in how empty it was. A fresh note sat on top of the small pile of parchments, and he smiled as he recognised the handwriting.

_Dear Remus,_

_ I don't know if you remember my mentioning Muggle schrew-drovers the last time we spoke, but I've seen one! And quite by chance, might I add, while Perkins and I were on assignment last Wednesday. However, to thoroughly explain, you'll have to allow me to indulge in a bit of backstory. _

_See, a group of final year Hogwarts students thought it would be amusing to enchant a Muggle bowling ball and use it as a bludger during a particularly rough game of Quidditch. Needless to say, several teeth were lost and two Muggles saw the ball in flight when it decided to do a victory lap of a nearby park. I'm surprised The Prophet didn't have a field day with the story!_

_Anyway, before the Obliviators arrived, one of the Muggles – a very helpful and inquisitive fellow – thought the ball was being controlled by some sort of hidden device and wanted to investigate the inside of it. He told me he kept a "toolbox" in his car (what on earth is contained in one of those?) and returned with a schrew-drover a moment later. _

_What a unique idea, to create an implement that one can use to open and close things that have hidden compartments! We truly underestimate Muggles too often! Unfortunately, the Obliviators arrived before he could show me how to use it, but I did get to personally examine it for several minutes. I've included a sketch below which Perkins agrees is quite accurate, although he doesn't seem as intrigued by the implement as myself. _

_Oh, before I forget, Molly and Ginny are both impatient to have you over for lunch again soon – would next Sunday suit? If so, do please extend the invitation to Kingsley and Faye as well; we would be delighted to see you all! I have it on good authority that Molly's famous gooseberry crumble will be making an appearance._

_Best wishes, _

_Arthur_

_PS: I've just had it from Perkin's sister that a "toolbox" contains all sorts of different schrew-drovers, among other things. Genius!_

Remus's smile spread into a grin at the incredibly detailed (and labelled) sketch at the bottom of the parchment, before carefully tucking the letter inside his robes. After the war, when his own colleagues had been too bitter to help him fight his way out from his depression, Arthur Weasley had been a genuine and caring friend, although they had only met once before. He and his wife, Molly, had helped Remus get his life back on track, to become healthier and happier, and given him a safe place he could turn to when he felt lost. Over the years, their bond had developed into an almost familial relationship, and Remus was a constant guest at The Burrow – and often a bad influence on the mischievous Weasley twins.

Their youngest son, Ron, would be starting at Hogwarts this September, too. Perhaps it would be a good idea to introduce Harry to him, so he would know at least one person before the start of school? Besides, the two might hit it off. Yes, Sunday lunch sounded like a brilliant idea.

Remus strolled down the corridor towards the meeting room, trying to remember the particular brand of wine he had brought over at Easter that Molly had loved so much.

"What are you doing here?" Kingsley called out, and Remus turned to see his friend emerge from his own office, tucking a thick scroll under his arm. "Aren't you collecting Harry?"

"Heading over after the meeting," Remus replied, stepping back to allow Savage to pass him. "Have to present the latest developments in the Heaney case."

"Proudfoot could have done that, surely?" Kingsley said quietly, as they walked along. "That's one of the upsides to having a partner, after all."

Remus laughed and glanced behind him, before muttering, "True, but Scrimgeour was _very_ insistent that I do it."

"Ah."

Since their disagreement over Kit, Scrimgeour seemed to think it necessary that Remus remember his rank, and had not missed an opportunity to gently remind him of it. Remus had accepted the extra work and shortened deadlines without complaint – whinging would only extend the flogging period, and Scrimgeour would likely find someone else in need of reprimand soon. It never failed to irk the Deputy Head that Moody loved a good argument with the Senior Aurors and didn't admonish them for backtalk, as long as they did their jobs properly. The preservation of office etiquette was not high on Moody's list of priorities.

In the meeting room, all of the seats were taken, which was not surprising - Moody only ever allowed about ten chairs, despite there being almost sixty Aurors in the squad. Remus and Kingsley squeezed past Proudfoot and Rickburn, who were having a whispered disagreement over a recent Quidditch game, and stood at the back. These meetings could be the very best spectator sport.

As they waited for the meeting to begin, Remus felt a familiar, prickling sensation creep up his spine; someone's eyes were on him and were not moving. Given the size of the room, it didn't take him long to spot his watcher.

Nymphadora Tonks stood to the right of him, just behind Proudfoot. The second he glanced at her, she quickly looked away, shoving her hands into her pockets in what she probably thought was a nonchalant gesture.

Why was she constantly watching him? He had accepted her into the programme and given her a chance – what more did she want from him? He wasn't the one who had attempted to coat her face in acrid mould and then not even had the decency to come up with an interesting excuse as to why.

He deliberately stared at her for a minute or so, but although her cheeks coloured slightly, her eyes remained fixed on the back of Rickburn's head. Clenching his jaw a little, Remus turned to look at Moody, who was calling the meeting to order in his usual way.

"SHUT IT!"

The new recruits dotted about the room jumped, still unused to the Head Auror's unique charm.

"Alright you lot, no pissing about today – we've a lot to get through."

Of course, within ten minutes an argument had broken out between Savage and Higgins over which of them had lead a recent successful mission in Cornwall. As with all good arguments, this quickly devolved into a heated exchange of bizarrely nonsensical insults, such as "saggy-balled wand-snapper" and "cock-eyed elf-breeder".

"I do love these meetings," Remus whispered as the two Aurors resorted to flinging office stationary at one another. Kingsley chuckled, sidestepping to avoid a flying ink bottle.

There was a brisk knock on the door just as Savage was being restrained – after catching Higgins in the face with a coffee mug – and Adrien, one of the office secretaries, poked his ginger head around the door.

"Sorry for interrupting, Auror Moo – "

"Yeah, what is it?" Moody growled.

That book on 'proper English manners' Remus had (only half-jokingly) bought Moody for his birthday was clearly going to waste. As he made a mental note to fix the thing to his boss's desk with a Sticking Charm, Adrien turned his gaze to Remus. "There's a Floo call for you, Auror Lupin."

"Oh?" He frowned. "It's not my mother is it?"

"Great goblin balls!" Moody said, crassly. "She's not back in the country, is she?" His magical eye spun round to glare at Adrien, as though it would be his fault if she was.

"Yes," Remus replied, before impishly adding, "Would you like me to set you two up?"

The room erupted into sniggers, which hastily turned into hacking coughs as Moody's human eye looked ready to pop out. Remus caught Nymphadora Tonks's eye, and was surprised to find her grinning at him.

"Er, no," Adrien said, clearly uncomfortable, "It's someone named Arabella? She says it's urgent, sir."

Remus felt his entire body go cold, and without a conscious thought he shoved his way through half a dozen of his colleagues and was sprinting for the Floo chamber at the end of the corridor.

Arabella Figg's head was floating in one of the fireplaces, her face emerald green and troubled.

"Arabella," Remus said, dropping to his knees. "What's wrong?"

"I don't want to alarm you, Remus. Harry's alright, I think."

Remus was vaguely aware of Kingsley entering the room and closing the door behind him. "Then why – "

"I think Vernon Dursley has had a bit of a mental breakdown."

That, he had not been expecting. "Er, I know Vernon is a bit of a, well, shall we say _peculiar_ person –"

"That's putting it mildly," Kingsley muttered. He was no fan of Vernon Dursley.

" – but what makes you think he's, er, missing a few more gobstones than usual?"

"Well, yesterday morning, he bundled the whole family into the car and sped off. I thought maybe they had just gone on an over-night trip or something, but, well, they took Harry with them. And they haven't been back since."

Remus felt his pulse begin to pound in his veins, but forced himself to remain calm and to think. Despite all his bravado, Vernon wouldn't actually do anything to hurt Harry, and there were several possible explanations for this behaviour.

For one, Vernon had a sister, Marge, who could have taken ill. Vernon wouldn't have wanted to leave Harry alone at home for fear he would blow the house up, or something, and so had taken him along. However, Vernon wouldn't have wanted Harry at a family event, and probably would have contacted Remus to come and take him for the weekend.

A second – and far less likely – possibility was that the Dursleys had decided on an impromptu holiday to the beach, or something. But they were not exactly known for their spontaneity, and again, they would have contacted Remus to take his godson…

And then it hit him.

"Oh no."

"What?" Kingsley and Arabella said, in unison.

"I told Minerva McGonagall to hold off on sending Harry's Hogwarts letter to him until his actual birthday, so I could be with him when he opened it. But, I forgot that it's customary for the school to let the family know the letter is on its way if there's any hold up, so they don't worry…"

Except, in this case, it had had the exact _opposite_ effect. Remus wanted to slap himself.

"So, Vernon was told that Harry's letter was on the way and lost the plot." Kingsley let out a low whistle. "That man is all kinds of Muggle."

"You have no idea," Arabella remarked.

"Thank you for calling me, Arabella," Remus said. "I'll track them down."

The older woman smiled. "No problem at all, Remus. I wish I could be more help."

"You've done plenty." He smiled back at her. "And I think I know exactly what to do from here."

They said their goodbyes, and Remus got to his feet, running a hand through his hair. "I have to hand it to Vernon, he does try his best."

Kingsley crossed his arms. "After all these years, how are they still trying to fight Harry's heritage? How are they still afraid of it?"

"Vernon's afraid of anything out of the ordinary; always has been. Petunia, though…" Remus suspected some other motivation on Petunia's part and he felt his temper rise a little.

"You want some backup?" Kingsley said, drawing himself up to his full height and cracking his knuckles. Remus was tempted to take him up on the offer; although Vernon and Kingsley had only met a handful of times, the moustached man was nearly more scared of him than he was of Remus.

However, a sudden thought struck, and he grinned. "No offence, King, but I think I'm going to need a bigger man than you for this particular mission."

Kingsley looked momentarily affronted, before comprehension brightened his eyes and he grinned back.

"Tell Hagrid 'hello' from me."

* * *

Tonks had looked forward to the Monday staff meetings, assuming they would be full of captivating reports on current investigations, and lively deliberations over Ministry procedure and ethics. Now, after sitting - or rather, standing - through her second one, she wasn't sure anything of consequence had actually been discussed.

Rickburn had given the most boring presentation on a double murder that she could ever had imagined possible, most of which focused on the type of footwear the victims had been wearing at the time (combat boots). Savage and Higgins had gotten into a spectacularly egotistical argument and were both thrown out of the meeting, and Scrimgeour spent a good fifteen minutes lecturing them all on proper behaviour and the reputation of the department.

The only moment of actual intrigue had been Lupin running from the room to answer a Floo call, closely followed by Kingsley Shacklebolt. The latter returned fifteen minutes later, whispered something to Moody, and the meeting continued. Lupin never reappeared.

Finally, they were dismissed and Tonks all but ran for the door, desperate for a breath of fresh air and to avoid any more suggestive glances from Adam Atterby, one of the Junior Aurors.

She still had half an hour until her first class. The others had gone for coffee, but she had declined their offer to join, hoping to get in a bit of wand practice. There was a particular wrist movement that she had been practicing for Extreme Spellwork but she couldn't quite get it right. It was a sort of double-time flick, but she always wound up –

"Excuse me?"

Tonks paused en-route to her cubicle to see a willowy, dark-haired woman dressed in sky blue robes, looking at her. Her full lips and high cheekbones made Tonks feel quite plain indeed, despite the lime-green hair she had decided on that morning. The woman was nothing short of beautiful.

"I'm looking for Remus Lupin, do you know where he is?"

"Er, well he's not in the department at the moment. I actually think he might have left the Ministry." She wasn't sure how much information she was meant to divulge to a stranger. Then again, she might not be a stranger at all; she might have been the head of another department, for all Tonks knew. She offered the woman a polite smile. "Some sort of personal issue, I think."

The woman's forehead crinkled, but before she could say anything else, Savage appeared. After giving Tonks the usual once-over, he turned to the woman beside her.

"'Allo Faye, looking gorgeous as usual." Puffing out his chest, he leaned towards her. "You know, if you ever want a _real_ man to show you a good time, you only have to ask."

The woman's lips curved slightly, but there was a distinct touch of malice in her expression when she said, "Thank you Everett. And if you ever find such a man, do let me know."

Savage's smirk soured a little and he swaggered on down the row towards his office.

"Would you like me to give Auror Lupin a message from you?" Tonks asked. If this Faye woman needed Lupin for something important, she wanted to be sure the message got to him. Plus, it might give her the opportunity to speak to him outside of class, and maybe she could try to explain the mould incident…

The woman smiled, more genuinely this time. "Thank you for the offer, but I think I can manage to track him down." Giving Tonks a courteous nod, she swept past, leaving a distinct floral scent in her wake that Tonks couldn't quite place.

"That's Faye Harred, Lupin's girlfriend."

Tonks turned around to see Alana, the fudge-loving secretary, behind her, dropping a scroll in each cubicle's inbox along the row.

"His _girlfriend_?"

"Yeah. As in, a female he sleeps with but isn't married to?"

Tonks narrowed her eyes but Alana only grinned. The secretary wasn't much older than herself, and the two of them had chatted in the tearoom a few times.

"Don't you have a spell to do that for you?" Tonks said, watching the other woman as she continued to manually deliver the scrolls.

"I do, but I like going for a little walk every now and then - keeps my arse from getting too saggy. Plus, your friend Grayson was trying to chat me up and I didn't want to get in trouble for punching him in his unmentionables."

Tonks felt a surge of affection towards the secretary and walked alongside her as she moved down the row. "So, what's the deal with Lupin's girlfriend? Does she work here?"

"She's an Obliviator, one of the best in the country. Ministry paid big galleons to get her here – she could have worked anywhere she wanted to."

That made sense; Lupin was one of the best Aurors in the country, so it seemed fitting that he had a gifted girlfriend to match him. For some reason, the thought made Tonks feel strangely self-conscious.

"Bit of an odd couple, if you ask me," Alana remarked.

Tonks thought that a little harsh – Lupin might not match his girlfriend in terms of beauty, but he wasn't bad looking. Not that she had noticed.

"How so?" she asked, hoping that wasn't Alana's reasoning.

"Well, for one, Lupin isn't interested in status or recognition, whereas she most definitely is."

"I'm sure it's somewhat on his mind," Tonks said. "After all, he was the youngest Auror to be promoted to a senior rank in more than two centuries."

Alana raised an eyebrow. "I'm fairly certain that wasn't his intention at the time."

Tonks shrugged. "Who knows." To her, it didn't seem likely that someone who was talented and worked hard would not expect some sort of acknowledgement or appreciation of his or her actions. Being promoted that young had hardly happened to Lupin by accident.

After a moment, she realised Alana had made no further comment, and looked up to find the secretary watching her with a funny half-smile.

"What?" Tonks said.

"Nothing." Alana dropped another scroll into Auror Nithercott's inbox. "Bet you didn't know Lupin has an Order of Merlin."

This time, Tonks stopped in her tracks. "He _what_?" she whispered.

The secretary nodded, turning to look at her. "That's what the 'O.M.' on his office door means. First Class and everything. Keeps it hidden at the bottom of his desk drawer."

Tonks had just assumed 'O.M.' were the initials of the last person to reside in that office. "What did he get it for?"

Alana shrugged. "Beats me; it was before my time. All I know is he was part of some covert operation after the war." She dropped another scroll into Bodkin's inbox. "But was the only one of them to come back in one piece. And apparently he didn't even want the award; tried to give it back and refused to let them hold a ceremony for him."

Tonks was stunned. "Why in Merlin's name would he do that? It's a huge honour – not to mention, you get thousands of galleons with it!"

"You'd have to ask him." Alana turned as Scrimgeour called her from a nearby office and nodded at him before briefly turning back to Tonks. "But maybe wait until you actually _know_ the man before you do."

And with that she trotted away, her high heels clicking loudly as she left an uncomfortable Nymphadora Tonks behind her.

* * *

Harry was miserable.

After much driving around – while Aunt Petunia pleaded with him to just turn around and go home – Uncle Vernon had finally stopped off at the gloomiest of hotels, where they all spent the night. Every time Harry had tried to creep downstairs to use the phone, Uncle Vernon had appeared from the next bedroom like a jack-in-the-box, barking at him to go back to bed.

The next morning, the hotel manager came to their breakfast table, looking extremely perturbed as he addressed the Dursleys.

"'Scuse me, but are you two aunt and uncle to a Mr H. Potter? Only, I've got at least an 'undred of these at the front desk..."

She waved a yellow envelope and stared as Harry and Dudley made a simultaneous lunge for the letter, only to be yanked backwards by Uncle Vernon.

They were then bundled back into the car again, and Uncle Vernon's behaviour became even stranger – he kept pulling the car over at remote locations, examining their surroundings, and then driving off again.

Lunchtime came and went, and Harry was thoroughly depressed.

"Remus will be looking for me by now," he told the Dursleys. "He'll be worried."

Uncle Vernon's eyes swung to the clock on the dashboard and bulged out of his head a little, but he made no reply.

"The boy is right, dear," Aunt Petunia said, quietly. "It might be better to just go home."

Uncle Vernon muttered incoherently into his moustache but offered her no proper answer.

Harry stared out the window. The weather was worsening as they travelled further north, and rain was now coming down in relentless sheets. Would his godfather call the police? Or would he hire a bunch of fellow spies to help him track the Dursleys down. With the erratic way Uncle Vernon had been driving, it could take days to follow their trail.

So much for his amazing birthday week. His eyes were burning and he began to blink rapidly, unwilling to show any emotion in front of his family.

Just what was in those letters?

(-)(-)(-)

Hours later, they finally stopped for the night.

Uncle Vernon had acquired a mysterious package and commandeered a boat, which brought them out to a dilapidated old house perched on a rock, way out at sea. As they moved further away from dry land, Harry felt as though his heart was sinking to the bottom of the ocean. England's top spies wouldn't find them out here.

The Dursleys went to bed early – for want of anything else to do – but Harry lay awake on the cold floor, finally allowing a few tears to escape.

He knew Remus would be panicking at this stage. Would he be angry with Harry for not trying harder to contact him? If it hadn't been so stormy outside, he might have attempted to row the tiny boat back to land on his own and walk to the nearest house or hotel.

CRASH!

The waves battered against the rock, flinging stones and debris against the side of the house. A powerful gust of wind hit the wall nearest to Harry, rattling the windows and filling the room with freezing air. He shivered, pulling an old blanket more tightly around himself and cocked his head to look at Dudley's watch.

10:30pm.

If he had been with Remus, they probably would be counting down to midnight – Harry's birthday. Kingsley and Hope would be there too, and there would likely be a feast, featuring every one of Harry's favourite foods. Once midnight struck, the adults would sing 'Happy Birthday' to him, over and over until Harry was red in the face from laughing.

Then, Hope would insist on "cracking open the bubbly" (accompanied by some sparkling juice for Harry) and everyone would toast to the birthday boy, and then to each other, and finally call for speeches that would become more and more ridiculous as the night wore on.

And Harry would eventually climb into bed, unable to stop grinning, as he knew the next day they would have planned something even more spectacular.

That was his real family.

A few more tears made their way down his cheeks and he couldn't bring himself to wipe them away. He had never felt so miserable.

CRASH! BOOM!

The house shook again, but it seemed different, this time. There was also an odd crunching sound, as though something large was moving on the gravelly path outside. Perhaps it was more sea debris, or a boulder had come loose?

BOOM!

Harry sat up, staring at the door. The noise was definitely coming from just outside it, which made no sense, as the waves had just been hammering the other side of the rock.

It was then that Harry noticed the unmistakeable shadow underneath the doorway and his heart started to hammer against his ribcage.

Someone was outside.

BOOM!

And they desperately wanted to come in.

BOOM!

Uncle Vernon came thundering out of the next room, holding a rifle.

"Who's there?" he shouted, his voice quavering. "Leave now – I'm armed and I-I-I have excellent aim!"

Harry seriously doubted that his uncle had ever used a water pistol, let alone a real gun.

CRASH!

The door was slammed so hard from the outside that it ripped from its hinges and fell to the floor with a loud bang.

Harry and the Dursleys stared in astonishment at the giant standing in the doorway, his black eyes gleaming.

* * *

**AN: **Whoa, a lot happened in this chapter – some questions answered and a lot more thrown in! And there's so much more to come, so do stay tuned and thanks for reading :)

Oh, and reviewers get to be tracked down by an Auror of their own choosing ;)


	8. All of It

**AN:** Thanks to all my lovely followers for your reviews and well wishes! Sorry this update took so long – had a period of house-hunting/job-interviewing, as well as writing, so lots going on!

This chapter turned out to be an absolute beast to write; it's really a turning point in Harry's life, and having Remus involved would obviously alter how the situation played out and how things would be explained to him, but I like to think certain events were meant to happen too. There were a few different ways I imagined this scenario – and a few different versions I tried – but what follows here seemed the most organic for this story.

(This chapter is a bit of a slower burner, so if it's action you're looking for, chapter eight will be for you :P )

**Disclaimer****:** Some content has been adapted from chapters four and five of _The Philosopher's Stone_. Anything you do not recognise from JK's work belongs to me.

**Chapter Seven**

**_All of It_**

_**Still Monday, July 30**__**th**__**, 1991**_

For a moment, they all stared at the giant, whose width filled the entire doorway and cast an immense shadow across the room. Then, with a yelp, Dudley ran and hid behind the sofa, while Uncle Vernon waved the rifle in what he probably assumed to be a threatening manner.

"I warn you sir, I –"

But he never got to finish, as he was interrupted by a voice that piped up from somewhere behind the giant.

"Coo-ee!"

Harry almost burst into laughter when Remus's head popped up over the giant's shoulder and then vanished again, as though he had to jump to see over the top of it. Uncle Vernon made a strange, squeaking sound and then cleared his throat loudly.

"LUPIN! What are you –"

Remus's head appeared again and then vanished.

"Could I come in, Hagrid?" his voice asked the giant, who turned to smile down at him, black eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Of course, Remus – beg yer pardon," he replied, manoeuvring to allow Harry's godfather to squeeze past him.

"Well, isn't this nice and cosy?" Remus said, looking around the dank room. His eyes fell on a particularly sizeable growth of mould on the ceiling. "You visit here often? It certainly is an escape from the rest of the world."

"What are you doing here, Lupin?" Uncle Vernon snarled, although he continued to keep his gaze on the giant man.

Remus completely ignored his question, as the answer was obvious to everyone. Instead, he glanced at the gun.

"Vernon, you might want to put that away before you hurt yourself."

This time, Uncle Vernon made an impressive variety of choking sounds, his face turning the colour of an overripe tomato, while Remus glanced over at Harry, his eyes full of concern.

"You alright, kid?" he asked, and Harry nodded, unable to stop grinning. Until a powerful gust of wind almost blew them all off their feet.

Steadying himself, Remus turned to his companion. "Would you mind fixing the door, Hagrid?"

But the bigger man was already taking care of it; Harry watched as he lifted the door as easily as if it had been made of foam-board and jammed it back in its place with a snap.

"Excellent."

Remus clapped his hands together. "Now! Harry, I'd like to introduce Rubeus Hagrid, an old friend of mine."

Harry reached up to accept the giant's handshake. "Hello." The man's hand was so large; Harry's fingers could barely reach the edge of his palm.

Hagrid smiled down at him. "Las' time I saw you, you was only a wee baby, Harry. You look a lot like yer dad, you know."

"Yeah, I know."

"Except yer eyes – they're yer mother, Lily's."

Harry nodded; he'd heard this from Remus and Hope several times growing up. The giant's smile widened, but his eyes held a hint of sadness. Harry wondered if Hagrid had known his parents, but now didn't really seem like the time to ask. Not with the Dursleys glowering at them all from the corner.

"Now, Petunia, Vernon," Remus said, "I gather you've been having trouble receiving your post?" He reached into the inside pocket of his coat, drawing out a thick, yellowish envelope. "So, I was asked to personally deliver this."

Harry cocked his head to stare at the envelope, and could just make out the address:

_Mr and Mrs Vernon Dursley  
The Bedroom  
Hut-on-the-Rock  
The Sea_

"NO!"

Uncle Vernon held the rifle on Remus, his eyes bulging. "Don't you dare –"

In one swift move, Hagrid tugged the gun from his grip, wound the barrel into a knot and tossed it into a corner of the room, where it landed with a clang. Uncle Vernon squeaked, Dudley wailed and Remus turned to gaze at the bigger man, seemingly quite impressed.

"Have you been working out, Hagrid?"

"Aye, was helpin' Professor Kettleburn round up the thestral herd last week to weigh 'em. Strong buggers, they are."

Remus nodded knowingly, before turning back to the rest of them.

"Well, now that we're all unarmed, perhaps it would be a good idea to sit down and talk about all this in a sensible fashion."

_All what, exactly?_ Harry thought. _How Uncle Vernon had lost his mind? _He would rather Remus just took him away now and not make any of them spend one more moment in this place.

"No, we won't," Uncle Vernon snarled, for once on the same wavelength as Harry. "We don't want anything to do with your lot. You – you tell them to stop sending letters –"

"Well, if you had responded in a prompt fashion, they would have stopped," Remus replied.

"– and tell them none of us will be going to that – that place –"

"I'm sorry, but you weren't invited Vernon."

"– and the boy won't be going either!"

"You mean Harry? He will be going."

"_I forbid_ _it_!"

In three strides, Remus was face-to-face with Uncle Vernon. Or almost; Remus had to bend his neck to look down into the other man's face.

"You are in no position to make any such command, Vernon," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You removed my godson from his home without informing me, in direct violation of what we agreed eight years ago. You do it again, and I promise you will regret it."

His tone was so matter-of-fact that Uncle Vernon actually flinched and backed up several steps. Remus straightened up to his full height, as though daring the other man to challenge him further, and slapped the yellow letter onto Vernon's chest.

"It's time Harry had the truth. All of it."

Harry felt his heart beat a little faster, as Remus indicated that he should take a seat on the broken sofa. Dudley scurried away as they approached, running to hide behind his mother, and Remus sat down beside Harry. Hagrid remained standing, and from the look he was giving the Dursleys, he was doing so largely for the purposes of intimidation.

Eagerly, Harry waited. For what exactly he wasn't sure, but he knew there was something he needed to know. He'd felt it for years – every time Remus opened his mouth to speak and then changed his mind; every time a stranger in the street knew Harry's name; every time his dreams seemed a little too real. There was a missing piece in his life and the time had come for him to discover it.

However, Remus seemed to be struggling to find the words he wanted to use, which made the knot in Harry's stomach tighten a little more. He gave Remus an encouraging smile, which his godfather returned, before taking a deep breath.

"There's so much to tell you, kid. I'm not really sure where to start."

"Start at the beginning, right? That's what you always tell me to do."

Remus's smile widened a little. "Very true." He glanced up at the ceiling in thought for a moment. "Well, I suppose where it really begins is with a secret. One that many people in this world don't know."

Was this spy talk? Harry sat on his hands to stop himself fidgeting.

"Your parents and I – and Hagrid here – we…well, we grew up differently to a lot of people."

Remus paused, fiddling with the ring on his index finger. It was a dull, bronze colour, with thin tendrils of metal forming an impossible maze of Celtic knots. Harry had never seen his godfather without it.

"What I mean to say is…" Remus continued, "We have gifts that many others don't."

Harry nodded to show he was listening, even though he was confused.

"Gifts that you also share."

At this, Harry frowned, thinking hard. After a moment, he said, "I'm not sure what you mean, Remus. I can't think of any special gifts I have. And what does this have to do with all those letters that keep arriving?"

Remus opened his mouth, just as Hagrid leaned in and said:

"Yer a wizard, Harry."

Harry stared while Remus threw his hands up in the air. "_Really_, Hagrid? _I_ was going to tell him!"

"Well, yeh were doin' it awfully slow, Remus," Hagrid grumbled.

"I was building up to it," Remus shot back.

Before Hagrid could say anything else, Harry waved his hands in front of them. "Oy, sorry to interrupt, but have you both lost your marbles? Wizards aren't real!"

When they merely blinked at him, he rolled his eyes. "Is this some sort of birthday prank, Remus? Because it's a bit weirder than your usual, to be honest."

Remus shook his head, smiling a little. "It's not a prank, Harry."

Perhaps 'wizard' was a code word for something? He really hoped this was a spy thing and Remus hadn't gotten himself involved in some kind of cult. He eyed Hagrid with new suspicion.

"When you say wizard, you mean…"

"Pointy hats, magic wands, that sorta thing," Hagrid supplied, looking at Remus. "Blimey, yeh really told him nothing, did yeh?"

Remus arched an eyebrow. "I spent the entire journey here explaining that to you."

"Yeah, but I didn't think yeh were serious, like."

Remus ignored him and turned back to Harry. "Do you remember, all those times when something happened that you couldn't explain? The time you wound up on the roof of the school, or when your hair grew back overnight, or when I told you that you couldn't have chocolate biscuits for breakfast and they just appeared on your plate?"

Harry nodded. He could hear his pulse hammering in his ears, louder than the roar of the ocean outside. Remus couldn't possibly mean –

"You made all those things happen, kid."

"No, I didn't," Harry said, quickly, "I swear I –"

Remus laid a hand on his shoulder. "You didn't mean to, of course; you had no idea you could do it. But it was all you."

Harry simply stared at him. Forget the cult – Remus must have lost his mind, or taken some kind of hallucinogenic drug. Maybe he should convince Uncle Vernon to bring him to a hospital…

Speaking of which, why hadn't the Dursleys begun laughing or jeering or screaming for a policeman by now? He glanced up at his aunt and uncle to see them staring silently back. They looked a little frightened, but not completely surprised.

Which could only mean…they _believed_ him?

No, that was ridiculous – Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia didn't believe in anything that could possibly be classified as abnormal, and wizards definitely fell into that category.

Perhaps they knew Remus was cracking up – that had to be it! Of course they wouldn't want to help him, they had never liked him. Well, Harry had to do something; he couldn't let his godfather be carried off to some nut-house!

He looked back at Remus, who was waiting patiently for him to respond in some way, and took a deep breath.

"But, Remus" he said gently, trying to reason with his godfather in whatever mental state he was in. "That isn't possible."

"Why not?" Remus replied, as though Harry had simply pointed out that they couldn't visit the arcade.

"Well, 'cos wizards, they aren't real."

"That's news to me," Remus said, "seeing as I am one."

He clicked his fingers and a blue flame appeared in the gap between his thumb and forefinger. Harry nearly fell off the sofa, and had reached for his blanket on the floor to beat it out before he noticed that the fire didn't appear to be hurting Remus at all. It was simply dancing over his skin.

Harry almost forgot to breathe. "How are you doing that?" he gasped.

Remus grinned. "_Magic_."

Slowly, he uncurled the rest of his fingers, and Harry watched, entranced, as the flame spread into his palm. Cupping it, Remus threw the flame into the fireplace, where it flashed, bursting into a blaze that heated the entire room within seconds.

Harry stared into the fire, feeling as though his whole world had exploded along with it. Either he was going crazy too, or…

"All this time…You've been a – a wizard, all this time?"

"All this time, kid. And so have you."

"But – but – but why didn't you tell me?"

Remus's smile faded a little. "Now that is a good story, but rather a long one. How about we get back on dry land before I begin it?"

"No," said another voice.

Aunt Petunia had stepped forward, her eyes over-bright as she clutched her cardigan around her thin frame. She seemed to be shivering, despite the heat that was now filling the room.

"Petunia." Remus got to his feet, facing her.

"If you take him to that place, he'll – he'll be…"

"He already is. I thought that you, of all people, would understand that you can't change that. It's who he is – who he has always been."

Aunt Petunia's cheeks coloured, but she raised her chin defiantly.

"I understand that you want him to be a freak, just like his parents were. Just like _you_ are."

Remus's jaw tightened, as Harry's dropped. He leapt to his feet.

"_You_ _knew_?" he said, but in that moment it all made sense. Why the Dursleys always panicked – really, genuinely, panicked – whenever anything even slightly unexplainable happened around him. Why Uncle Vernon flinched whenever Remus stood too close, and always seemed a little wary of him. Why they never spoke about Harry's parents.

They had known the whole time, while Harry had been left completely in the dark. He felt an awful churning in his stomach. Why had Remus only lied to _him_?

"Of course we knew!" Aunt Petunia shrilled. "How could we not know what you'd turn into with my dratted sister being what she was. She came home every holiday from that blasted Hogwarts place, turning rats into teacups, talking about potions and spells and bringing weirdo friends like _him_ over all the time."

She gave Remus an ugly look at this and he glared straight back.

"I was the only one who saw what she really was – a freak. And then she met that Potter at that – that school, and when you were born I knew. Knew you'd be just as strange and – and – and _abnormal_. And then she went and got herself blown up, along with that useless husband of hers, and we got landed with you!"

Harry felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. "Blown up? You told me my parents died in a car crash!"

"CAR CRASH!"

Remus whirled around to face his larger companion, who seemed to be swelling with indignation.

"Hagrid –"

"Yeh told me the lad knew nothin' about magic. But his parents –"

"This isn't the time, Hagrid."

"It's an outrage, Remus! The Potters died heroes, and you didn't tell him –"

"ENOUGH!"

Hagrid fell silent, but his beard was twitching wildly, as though he were muttering into it. Harry also stayed quiet for a moment; he had never heard Remus raise his voice before. His godfather's cheeks were flushed and he seemed to be battling a temper.

For a few seconds, Remus closed his eyes, before turning to face Harry, his expression pained. "It's the explanation your aunt and uncle gave you when you were very small, before I…before I came back."

He broke off, running a hand through his hair. "When I found out, I couldn't tell you something different. Not when you were so young, it would have hurt you too much…" He trailed off, his eyes bright.

"But, if they didn't die in a car accident," Harry whispered, "what happened to them?"

Remus sighed and reached out to gently grip his shoulders. "They were murdered, Harry."

_Murdered_.

The word just hung in the air and Harry started to feel as though he were in a dream. None of this could really be happening, could it? How could he have gone from Harry Potter: tragic orphan, to Harry Potter: son of murdered wizards?

But somehow, it all felt more real than his entire life so far.

He had so many questions he wanted to ask – what had happened, who had killed them and why – but the look on Remus's face stopped him. This was clearly not something he wanted to discuss in front of the Dursleys. Glancing at Aunt Petunia, Harry lowered his voice.

"Will you tell me later?"

Remus's expression softened. "Yes, I will. I promise."

Relief and sadness coursed through Harry and he nodded, swallowing the lump that had lodged itself in his throat. Remus silently tugged him forward into a hug, wrapping his arms firmly around him and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Harry clutched him back, willing himself not to cry.

"Excuse me?!"

Blinking rapidly as Remus released him, Harry looked up to see Uncle Vernon standing, hands on hips, eyes bulging out of his purple face.

"Sorry to break up the sad, weirdo family moment, but he's still not going to that bloody school!"

Remus muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like "Merlin's sodding knickers!" But out loud, he only said: "Vernon, honestly, not this again."

Uncle Vernon ignored him, looking directly at Harry. "Now listen here and listen good, boy. There is something a little strange about you, there's no ignoring that. We knew that it would have been better to stamp it out of you, and if we could have kept you away from _him_, we probably would have succeeded." He threw Remus a dirty look. "But you'll be going to Stonewall High and you can forget all about magic and wizards."

"The boy will be going to Hogwarts," Hagrid growled, "You think a great Muggle like yerself is going to stop him?"

"And just what'll we tell the neighbours?" Uncle Vernon shrieked, "That some crackpot old fool is teaching him MAGIC TRICKS?"

It seemed this was one step too far – Hagrid's entire frame expanded with rage, and he whirled his umbrella over his head. Harry wondered if he was going to spear Uncle Vernon with it.

"NEVER – INSULT – ALBUS – DUMBLEDORE – IN – FRONT – OF – ME!" Hagrid bellowed.

He brought down the umbrella in a sweeping motion, but Remus grabbed for it before it finished its descent and wrestled it out of Hagrid's grip. The pointed tip emitted a few violet sparks, but nothing happened.

"Don't make me arrest you, Hagrid," Remus hissed. Harry felt more than a tad disappointed. Hagrid seemed to feel the same and had to settle for giving the Dursleys such a ferocious glare that they ran for the bedroom, slamming the door behind them.

"Well, I guess we should make a move then," Remus said.

At that moment, a large wave crashed against the side of the house and the windows rattled in their panes as the wind forced its way through them.

"Or…perhaps we should stay put until the morning." He didn't look any more thrilled at the prospect than Harry was, but looking at the waves that climbed higher up the window with each swell, staying here with Remus and his hairy friend didn't seem too bad a prospect.

"Tea?"

Remus reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and drew out a long, wooden stick and a handful of tiny items that Harry couldn't make out. However, when Remus tapped them lightly with the stick, they rapidly expanded until he was holding a kettle, a tin of teabags, a half loaf of bread and several mugs. Another tap and the kettle started boiling of its own accord.

"Think I've got a packet o' sausages somewhere in here," Hagrid said, riffling through his coat pockets. "Oh, and this!"

He extracted the sausages and a slightly squashed cardboard box tied with thick, white thread from deep inside his overcoat and handed the latter to Harry.

"I know Remus already made yeh a cake –"

"Well, Kingsley made it," Remus said, noting Harry's disbelieving look. "I didn't want to give the kid food poisoning on his birthday."

"– but it's not every day a young fella turns eleven, so I thought yeh should have two."

Inside the box was a large, sticky chocolate cake, with 'Happy Birthday Harry' written across it in bright green icing. Harry felt another lump rise in his throat and just about managed to mumble a thank you. Hagrid grinned and clapped him on the shoulder – which nearly knocked Harry over – and sat down, the sofa creaking under him.

For a moment, Harry watched him as he began to cook the sausages and bread over the fire.

"So, er, who exactly are you, Hagrid?" The two men chuckled.

"Sorry Harry," Hagrid replied, "I didn't really introduce meself properly. I'm the Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."

"And you're a wizard too, are you?" Harry said.

"Er, well, I never fully qualified," the giant said, shifting a little uneasily in his seat. Harry noticed his eyes dart to the large, pink umbrella that was propped up against the sofa. Remus seemed to notice this too, but made no comment.

"You have to qualify as a wizard?"

Remus nodded. "That's what you'll learn at Hogwarts – how to control your magic and use it properly."

"So, you're sending me to wizard school?" Harry said, taking a seat beside Hagrid. "I should've known it wasn't just a posh finishing school."

Remus burst out laughing. "Sorry to disappoint you, kid! Hogwarts is only the finest wizarding school in Europe."

"In the world, I'd wager," Hagrid added.

Harry smiled, accepting a sausage and slice of toast from the giant. He still couldn't believe this was real; so much so that he'd spent the last ten minutes repeatedly pinching his arm. It was definitely going to leave a bruise.

He also desperately wanted to know the truth about his parents, but 'why were my mum and dad murdered?' didn't really seem like the type of thing to ask over a sausage sandwich. Instead, he asked:

"So, what is it that you actually do, Remus? As a job, I mean. I assume it's something magical?"

Remus chuckled. "I knew that was going to come up." He poured them all a steaming mug of tea. "I'm an Auror – a dark wizard catcher."

"What's a dark wizard?"

"A wizard, or witch, who has chosen to use their powers to harm other people." He paused to add milk to their tea, which he retrieved from a tiny bottle in his pocket. "You see, magic is so powerful that you can do either wonderful or terrible things with it. It's my job to find and stop those who choose the latter."

"So, you _are_ a detective, only a, er, wizard one?"

Remus looked thoughtful as he munched on his toast. "I guess so. It's not really regular law enforcement; another department deals with everyday crimes. We get the, well, stranger ones, I suppose. Dealing with the criminals who can't stop – or who won't."

Harry put down his second sandwich, suddenly feeling less hungry. He had to know.

"Is that what happened to my parents? They were killed by a dark wizard?"

Remus looked startled by the question, but nodded. Taking a deep breath, he set his mug down on the floor and eased himself down beside it, facing Harry.

"When I was about your age, a wizard calling himself Lord Voldemort began to recruit followers."

Hagrid winced, and Remus paused until the larger man gestured for him to continue.

"Voldemort, he was a dark wizard?" Harry asked.

"Yes, one of the worst our world has ever seen. He'd been gathering followers for some time, but when your parents and I were at Hogwarts he became much more powerful and much, much worse. It was a very dark time, Harry. Voldemort wanted power, absolute power, and those who opposed him often disappeared, or died."

He ran a hand through his hair, his face suddenly drawn and pale, the flames illuminating the silvery strands in his brown hair.

"When we left school, many of us moved into jobs where we could help to fight against him."

"Like Orours? Sorry, Aurors?" Harry asked.

Remus nodded. "Some of us, yes. In f act, your father and I trained as Aurors together, at the Ministry of Magic. He was very talented, your dad."

Harry felt a surge of pride. Remus had always said his dad was a very brave and loyal friend, but knowing that he had fought to protect other people made it seem more real.

"And what about my mum?"

"Your mum was one of the cleverest and most compassionate people I ever knew." Remus grinned. "But then again, she was my best friend, so I have to say that. Otherwise her ghost would come back to sing 70s pop classics at me every day."

"Fabulous girl – terrible voice," Hagrid said with a grimace. Harry laughed.

"She wasn't an Auror," Remus continued, "but she was brilliant. Your mum and dad were part of the resistance and were formidable assets for our side. So, naturally, they became targets for Voldemort and his followers – Death Eaters, they were called."

Despite the heat from the fire smouldering in the grate next to them, Harry felt a chill begin to spread from his very core. Remus seemed to feel the same, as he paused to wave a hand at the fireplace, causing the flames to climb higher again. He seemed transfixed by the orange glow, staring into the flames when he spoke again.

"We fought against them, of course, but their numbers were growing and ours…well, ours were not. The world was becoming more dangerous; no-one knew who to trust or what was going to happen next. You were born at the height of all of this, and your parents knew they would only be able to protect you for so long, so they made a plan." Tearing his eyes away from the fire, he looked at Harry. "When you were a year old, they went into hiding, but once Voldemort had decided he wanted someone, he would find them. On Halloween night, he came to your home. And…"

He seemed unable to finish, so Harry did it for him.

"And he killed my parents."

"Yes."

They fell into silence for a long moment, the only sounds in the room being the crackling of the flames and the occasional hitching of Remus's breath.

"What happened to him – Voldemort?" Harry asked, quietly, "Was he caught?"

Remus's eyes flickered to Hagrid's and back again. "He was defeated, soon after that. Most people believe that he died."

Harry was left with the distinct impression that Remus had omitted something from the story. And from the look Hagrid was giving his godfather, he was right.

"Did he?" Harry asked.

Hagrid gave a loud snort. "That's the official story. Codswallop, in my opinion. Doubt he had enough human left in him to die."

"Well, he disappeared, regardless," Remus said. "His body was destroyed. On the very unlikely chance that his soul still exists somewhere, it can't do anything without a body to go along with it. He's either dead, or as good as."

"What happened to all his followers?"

"A lot of them are in prison, or dead. Others claimed they had been brainwashed or magically controlled by Voldemort, and that once he vanished they went back to normal."

"But you don't believe them?"

Remus paused for a moment. He seemed to be thinking very carefully.

"I believe some of them. It is true that Voldemort magically controlled some people, particularly those who were in a position of power or influence in our world. But given the number of people claiming he _personally_ jinxed them…well, it simply is not likely – or even possible – that he could have done so. He was far more likely to control people using threats or torture –"

Remus cut himself off and gave Harry a small smile. "Anyway, I doubt we'll ever know the whole truth about who was under his command, and who was acting of their own volition."

The thought made Harry feel cold again. Why would anybody willingly follow someone who went around murdering people? Someone who would do anything to gain power, even if it meant hurting other people?

He looked back at Remus, to find him gazing down at his pocket watch, a smile curling his lips.

"It's time, Hagrid."

Hagrid delved into his pockets again, this time extracting a yellow envelope that was slightly thicker but of the same stock as the one that had been sent to the Dursleys. Only this time, Hagrid held it out to Harry.

"For me? What is it?"

"Yer acceptance letter to Hogwarts, o' course," Hagrid said, as if this should have been obvious.

Harry opened it and plucked out two pieces of paper. The first was a letter, from someone named Minerva McGonagall, while the second was a list of school books and supplies he was sure were not on the syllabus for Stonewall High.

Harry looked up again, a new wave of questions on the tip of his tongue, to find Remus was watching him, his eyes shining with tears as he smiled more widely than Harry had ever seen.

"Happy Birthday, kid," he whispered.

(-)(-)(-)

The next morning, they found a cosy pub on the mainland and ordered three massive breakfasts, before retreating to a corner away from the rest of the clientele. Hagrid received some strange looks, but he either didn't notice or chose to ignore them, as he sat across three chairs.

Harry was surprisingly ravenous, tucking into his Full Irish with gusto, although a new question popped into his mind every ten seconds.

"Are there a lot of wizards and witches in the world?"

"Oh yes," Remus said. "Millions of us, I expect, along with a whole range of magical creatures."

"What sort of creatures?"

"Hippogriffs, unicorns, dragons –"

Harry dropped his knife, which landed on his fried tomato and sprayed red juice all over the tablecloth. "Dragons really exist? How do normal people, I mean, er, Muggles, not see them?"

"Takes a lotta work to keep 'em hidden," Hagrid said. "Beautiful creatures, they are, but dangerous. Dragon tamers have a hard time of it, I'd wager. I'd like a dragon though…" Wistfully, he turned to Remus. "Young Charlie Weasley's gone inta that line 'o work, hasn't he?"

Remus nodded. "Yes, Arthur told me he's gone to study in Romania. He'll do well; he's always been very good with magical creatures."

Hagrid nodded his agreement and took a huge bite of his breakfast. "I heard young Nymphadora Tonks has joined yer ranks," he said, through a mouthful of bacon.

Remus fumbled with his knife, catching it before it fell into his lap. "Yes, she has."

"Who's Nymphy – er, what's her name?" Harry asked.

"Nymphadora, she's one of our newest recruits into the Auror force."

"Bright young thing," Hagrid said, "Did quite a few detentions wi' me over the years."

"Oh?" Remus said, now very interested in his toast.

"Not as many as Remus, though," Hagrid said, winking at Harry.

Harry's mouth fell open. "_You_ were in detention?"

"Every now and then," Remus said, with a shrug.

"Oh, more than tha'," Hagrid said, "Although James was in there more often than yeh."

Remus snorted. "I think he just liked being caught – then people would recognise his handiwork."

After a few minutes, Hagrid excused himself to use the bathroom. Harry fidgeted with his napkin for a moment, before blurting out:

"Why did you never tell me before? About any of this wizard stuff? I mean, my aunt and uncle knew…"

He tried not to sound too hurt, but he must have failed in the attempt, as Remus reached over to take one of his hands in his own.

"It was nothing to do with you, Harry. Believe me, I wanted to tell you every day, but it wouldn't have been fair. For one, it would have made living with your aunt and uncle even harder – knowing that you didn't really belong with them, knowing that this other world existed. And for another…well, that's to do with what happened the night your parents died."

"What do you mean?"

For a long moment, Remus chewed his lip, like he had to admit something he desperately didn't want to. Finally, he tossed his napkin onto the table and leaned in.

"Okay," he said, "You see, Harry, what happened that night is not exactly clear –"

Before he could continue, a woman with olive skin and thick, dark hair strode up to their table and poked Remus in the back of the head.

"Sorry to interrupt, boys."

Remus looked up in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

The woman crossed her arms, her leather jacket squeaking as she did so. "Oh, charming. Would you like me to enter again, give you another chance at a proper greeting?"

With an amused sigh, Remus stood up from his seat and bowed to her. "My apologies, madam. Harry, this is my partner from work, Edelia Proudfoot."

Proudfoot reached out and shook Harry's hand with a surprisingly firm grip and flashed him a grin, revealing a set of very large, very white, teeth.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Harry. Lupin here never shuts up about you."

Harry glanced at Remus, whose cheeks had gone a little pink, but managed a semi-nonchalant shrug anyway. "Nothing wrong with being a proud godfather."

"Sure, it's not annoying at all. Anyway, Harry, would you mind if I borrowed your old man for a minute?"

"Er, yeah, no problem."

Proudfoot winked at him and gestured for Remus to follow her outside. Once the door had closed behind them, Harry edged his chair backwards and cracked the window open very slightly. He could just make out their voices in the back alley.

"I replied to your note early this morning," Remus was saying.

"Yeah, I know," Proudfoot replied, "I even showed it to him to prove he could trust me, but he won't budge – says he'll only give the information to you."

"Did he give you any indication of what it's about?"

"None whatsoever. All he said was, "there's something big happening, but I'll only talk to Lupin, 'cos he isn't out to get me like the rest of you lot!" And then he stuck his tongue out at Scrimgeour, who nearly popped an artery. It was pretty funny."

Remus gave a huff of amusement. "Does Scrimgeour know you're here?"

"He sent me, after a fashion. Think he thought he could break the kid by threatening him, but the lad actually seemed to enjoy it. When I left they were sitting there, glaring and flaring their nostrils at each other. Like we don't have enough pissing contests in that department already."

"No indeed."

"Anyway, will you come? It shouldn't take very long. I am really sorry to have to do this, today of all days – if we were still allowed to beat information out of people, I wouldn't have bothered you."

"I don't believe we were ever allowed to do that, Proudfoot."

"Yes, yes, that is the official line. So, will you?"

Remus made a vague sound of assent, although it sounded more than a little displeased. "I'll meet you at the office in twenty."

"Okay. Say goodbye to Harry for me."

There was a loud, cracking sound, and then the tip-tap of a single pair of footsteps coming back inside. Harry quickly dragged his chair back to its previous spot and pretended to sip his, now very cold, tea.

"Everything okay?" he said, as Remus took a seat across from him again, looking more than a little irritated.

"Sort of. I'm sorry Harry, but I have to go into the office for an hour – something's come up. Hagrid can take you shopping without me, if you like, and I'll catch up with you as soon as I can." He frowned at the empty chair beside him. "Speaking of, where is Hagrid?"

At that moment, Hagrid arrived back at the table, looking thoroughly disgruntled.

"What happened to you?" Remus said, "You've been gone twenty minutes."

"Bloody Muggle toilet stalls," Hagrid muttered. "Got wedged in one, and the two waiters insisted on takin' bloody pictures before they helped me out."

(-)(-)(-)

It was two hours before Remus finally returned, just as Harry and Hagrid were leaving Eeylops Owl Emporium. It had been a very odd experience, shopping at Diagon Alley; various people had stopped to shake Harry's hand, while others had openly gawked at his forehead for no reason. He knew his lightning bolt scar was unusual, but these people could perform magic – surely a scar wasn't that interesting to them! He had tried to ask Hagrid if he knew what was going on, but the giant just told him he should ask Remus and muttered into his beard again.

"Well, how are you getting on?" Remus asked when he arrived, stroking the snowy owl's feathers through the cage. She hooted happily at him.

"Good," Hagrid said, glancing at Harry's list, "Think we've got almost everythin'."

"_Everything?_" Remus looked crestfallen. "You must have been very efficient."

"I still have to get a wand," Harry said quickly, and although Remus's lips twitched up a little, he still looked fairly miserable.

"If yeh don't mind, I'll meet ye after," Hagrid said. "Have to see a man abou' a big dog. Besides," he added, fixing Remus with a meaningful stare, "I'm sure yeh have _lots to talk about._"

If Remus knew what Hagrid meant, he didn't show it, and simply nudged Harry forward down the street.

"So, tell me where you went."

Harry told him all about the pale boy he had met in Madam Malkin's, the bizarre sights and smells of the Apothecary, and their visit to Gringotts.

"What d'you reckon was in the package Hagrid took from the vault?" Harry asked, breathlessly.

"I have no idea, kid," Remus said. "But if Hagrid didn't tell you then I'm sure it must be something private."

Harry wanted to ask more questions, to speculate on what could be in the parcel, but he didn't want to gossip.

"How was your thing at work?" he asked instead.

"Fine, just took longer than expected. I am sorry about that. Scrimgeour likes to be very thorough."

"No worries. Who's Scrimgeour?"

"Deputy Head of the Auror Squad. Great wizard, but not so good at remembering that people have lives outside of work."

Harry glanced down at his owl and tried to sound as nonchalant as possible. "Did you get what you needed?"

"What do you mean?"

"I just assumed you needed to get information from someone – or, er, something."

Remus held the door to Ollivander's open. "Eavesdropping, were you?"

"Er, no of course not, I…"

He trailed off. Remus was watching him with an amused, but utterly disbelieving, expression. Cheeks hot, Harry clutched the owl cage to his chest and walked into the narrow shop. In sharp contrast to the searing sunlight outside, Ollivander's was dark and dusty and full of shadows.

"Ah, Auror Lupin," a soft voice said. "Ten and a quarter inches wasn't it? Cypress and unicorn hair core. Fairly pliable, if I remember correctly."

"You do indeed. Harry, this is Mr Ollivander; the finest wandmaker in Britain." Remus said.

A thin, old man had moved forward from behind the shelves. He was rather unremarkable looking, aside from a pair of large, pale eyes that seemed to shine, even in the gloom. Harry was oddly reminded of the moon.

"Ah yes, I thought I would be seeing you soon, Harry Potter." Harry immediately noticed Ollivander's eyes move to his forehead. "It seems as if it were only yesterday that your mother and father were in here, buying their own first wands."

"I'm sure that was entertaining," Remus said. "James claimed he went through fifty wands before he found the right one."

"It was only twenty-two, as I recall," Mr Ollivander said. Harry wondered if he was joking.

The wandmaker moved towards one of the many shelves, running his pale fingers over the boxes.

"It was your own father, Lyall, who was one of my most difficult customers. It took sixty-seven attempts before a wand chose him – nine and a half inches with a dragon heartstring core." Ollivander plucked out a box and turned his pale eyes to Remus. "I was very sorry to hear about his passing."

Remus was no longer smiling, but gave the other man a polite nod. Lyall Lupin had died when Remus was a teenager and that was all that Harry knew on the subject. Neither Remus nor Hope ever mentioned how or when exactly he had died. He wondered if Ollivander knew –

Harry looked up and jumped. The wandmaker was now standing in front of him, holding out a tape measure. "Well, young Mr Potter – which is your wand arm?"

(-)(-)(-)

Returning to Remus's house laden down with parcels, Harry knew he should be exhausted, but his mind was buzzing. It had taken half an hour at Ollivander's before Harry had found the right wand, and then things took a strange turn. Ollivander became very thoughtful, mentioning something about another wand, one which had a feather from the same phoenix, and his eyes had travelled to Harry's forehead once more. But before he could ask what Ollivander meant, Remus had paid for the wand and ushered him quickly from the shop. Whatever the wandmaker had been about to reveal, Remus did not want him to.

"Hot chocolate?" Remus asked, as they entered the kitchen.

"Please."

For a few minutes, Harry watched him potter about the kitchen; heating up the milk, adding chunks of proper chocolate to the saucepan, whipping a bowl of cream. Of course, the whisk was whipping the cream of its own accord, and Harry watched it, wondering if he would ever stop being fascinated by magic.

It was only when Remus sat down across from him, sliding a bowl-sized mug across the table that Harry said: "You told Uncle Vernon you were going to tell me the truth – all of it."

Remus sighed. "I did. Some parts are just more difficult to tell than others."

"You did promise me."

"I know. And I meant it, I just…"

Remus clasped his mug between his hands, his long fingers meeting in the middle. "I told you that Voldemort was defeated."

"Yeah, you said his body was destroyed and he vanished. What does that have to do with the night my parents died?"

"Everything." Remus raised his eyes to Harry's. "Because he was destroyed by you."

Harry stared back. "Y'what?"

"Voldemort tried to cast the same curse on you that he used to kill your parents, but it didn't work. It rebounded, and destroyed him instead. That's why he disappeared."

"But…how? I mean, does that happen a lot?"

Remus shook his head. "No. No other person has ever survived that curse, at least not in recorded history. But you did; the only mark the curse left on you was your scar."

Which explained all the people in Diagon Alley.

Remus leaned forward, taking Harry's hand. "Nobody knows why you survived. It was a mystery then and it remains so now. You defeated Voldemort when you were barely a year old and we don't know how you did it. And because of that, you're a legend, Harry. Every single person in our world knows your name."

"You mean I'm…famous." Harry felt ridiculous even saying the word. How could he – scrawny, knobbly-kneed Harry Potter be _famous_ for something he didn't even remember?

Remus smiled gently. "Yes, you are. People have written hundreds of articles, essays and books about you. They've spent years forming opinions – how you survived, how powerful you are, what you'll grow up to be. Against all odds, you survived something that no-else ever did. You are 'The Boy Who Lived'.

That's part of the reason why I never told you the truth. I wanted to give you a chance to figure out who you are, before the world tried to make your mind up for you. Being the focus of the media, it's exhausting, and sometimes you start to believe what they say about you. You start to make it your own reality. I just wanted to protect you from that, for a little while at least."

He sounded as though he had had experience with this, which reminded Harry of something else he had noticed.

"All those people in Diagon Alley…"

"Yeah, I'm afraid the staring might be something you have to get used to," Remus said. "If it really bothers you, I can buy you some nice hats?"

"They were staring at you too."

As they had walked back to _The Leaky Cauldron_, Harry had noticed a lot of people whispering and pointing at Remus. Some had even turned and walked in the opposite direction when they saw him coming.

Remus shrugged. "Some Aurors become recognisable if they are involved in high-profile cases."

"So, are you famous too?"

Remus chuckled. "Not in the same way you are, Harry. The articles written about me aren't always complimentary."

"Why not? You put away dark wizards, isn't that a good thing?"

"You make a lot of enemies in this line of work, and some of them wind up being reporters. Anyway, I think we had better get to bed." Remus grinned. "I've heard a rumour that my mother plans to wake you up by letting off fireworks in your room, so you'd better sleep while you can."

"Is Hope a witch too?"

"Oh, in more ways than one." Remus said, gathering up their mugs. "Goodnight kid."

"Night." Harry paused in the doorway. "Hey, Remus?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks for looking out for me."

The worried expression Remus had been wearing all evening faded away, and for some reason he looked relieved.

"You're welcome, Harry."

Harry was halfway down the corridor before another question struck him.

"Did you ever meet him? Voldemort, I mean."

Remus continued washing their mugs without a word, so Harry wasn't sure if he had even heard him. It was only when he was climbing the stairs to bed that he heard Remus quietly say:

"Yes, I did."

(-)(-)(-)

As he got into his pyjamas, Harry's wasn't sure how to feel. This time yesterday he had been 'Harry Potter, orphan with a cool yet secretive godfather'.

Now he was 'Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, an apparently famous wizard'? He thought he should feel different – powerful or confident, or at the very least, that he had reached some rite of passage into adulthood. But when he looked in the mirror on his wardrobe door, the same pale, skinny, messy-haired kid was staring back at him. He didn't feel like someone you should write books about, and he certainly didn't think that he would get any rest tonight.

And yet, the second his head touched his pillow, he fell fast asleep.

On the other side of the wall, his godfather lay wide awake.

**AN:** Whew, bit of a long one there! The next two chapters will have action, Remus v Tonks, and a whole load of Weasleys! So stay tuned and please read/review/follow/fave IrishCailin16, over and out!


	9. The Past and The Present

**AN: **Look at all these updates! What is even going on?

Eagle-eyed readers will realise I've inserted an extra calendar day into Harry's birthday week. This is in keeping with the calendar created by the wonderful Harry Potter Lexicon, which closely follows Ms Rowling's series.

**Disclaimer:** I'm still not J.K. Rowling, but I am the owner of my own imagination.

**Trigger Warning:** Mild scenes of violence ahead.

**Chapter Eight**

**_The Past and The Present_**

_**Sunday, August 4**__**th**__**, 1991**_

"Do you really have a scar?"

"Is it true you were raised as a Muggle?"

"Do you remember what You-Know-Who looks like?"

"FRED!"

Harry tried not to laugh as Mrs Weasley marched Fred and George into the kitchen to lay the table, warning that they had better not place farting cushions on all the chairs like last time.

The Weasleys – a large family composed entirely of redheads – had invited him, Remus and Kingsley over for Sunday lunch. Since their arrival, the twins had been bombarding him with questions about every aspect of his life.

Ron waited until his mother left the room and leaned towards Harry. "Sorry about that. Mum told us not to be nosy, but, well, you're you, so…"

"I guess I am," Harry said awkwardly. "You can ask whatever you want though, I don't mind."

Ron looked surprised. "Really? Er…okay. Is it true you have a…" He stopped.

"What?"

Ron's ears had gone a little red and he peered out the door to make sure his mother was still in the kitchen. "You know…a scar?"

"Oh! Yeah, I do."

Harry pushed back his fringe to reveal the lightning-bolt on his forehead.

"Whoa," Ron said, staring, "So, that's where You-Know-Who…you know…"

"I suppose. Loads of people in _The Leaky Cauldron_ kept staring at it though, which was a bit weird."

"If it helps, people stare at my Aunt Muriel too. I think that's 'cos of her moustache, though..."

Harry had a feeling he was going to like Ron. Kingsley's head appeared around the door.

"Lunchtime, you two."

They followed him into the kitchen, where Remus was talking to Mr Weasley, his words drowned out by the loud chattering of the Weasley brood. Ginny smiled at Harry, and then turned bright red and hid behind her mother.

"Ah, here he is now," Mr Weasley said, smiling broadly. "We were just talking about you, Harry – how unique your situation is."

"My situation?" Harry asked, slightly distracted by the lunch spread. A large hunk of roast beef sat in the middle of the table, flanked by a platter of crispy roast potatoes, a large bowl of buttery peas, steaming chunks of carrots and parsnips, and a small mountain of freshly-baked bread rolls.

"Oh yes," Mr Weasley continued, oblivious. "Being from a wizarding family, and raised by a wizard, but thinking you were a Muggle the entire time. Utterly unique, I'd say!" He pushed his glasses back up his nose and gestured for them to take a seat at the table. "How are you transitioning, do you think?"

"Er…"

Remus caught his eye and smiled, before turning to Mr Weasley. "He's doing very well, Arthur. As we knew he would."

"Honestly," Kingsley said, as he helped himself to the roast potatoes, "He's doing far better than Remus and I did when we tried to learn all about Muggles."

"Why did you have to learn about Muggles?" Percy asked.

"Well, we had to pass off as them – Remus especially – so Harry wouldn't be suspicious." He passed the potatoes to Fred.

"The amount of research we had to do into football alone," Remus said, "learning all the rules, the differences between the teams and leagues, etc. That took a year, at least."

"You needn't have bothered with that one, Remus," Harry said, "I don't really like football."

Remus blinked, holding the pea spoon aloft. "Excuse me?"

"Well, it's kind of boring."

The two men turned to one another, wide-eyed, while the rest of the table erupted into laughter.

"All those football clubs we investigated."

"Not to mention the matches we watched."

"And that time you started a pub brawl with a bunch of Chelsea fans."

Harry nearly choked on a parsnip.

"Why must you always bring that up?" Kingsley said, scowling, "And I didn't start it."

"Yes you did," Remus said, smacking Harry on the back as he continued to cough, "And I bring it up because five years later, it's still funny."

Kingsley scowled and flicked a pea at his friend, bowing his head when Mrs Weasley admonished him.

"Anyway, we wanted to choose a good team for you to support, so we did our research. We made a lot of charts."

"So many charts," Remus echoed. "We had player statistics, win averages –"

"– not to mention all the books we read."

"_Talk Footy to Muggles_ was one of my favourites."

"I liked _Muggle Sports Chants and How to Sing Them Like a True Fan_."

"How unique!" Mr Weasley cried, almost knocking the bowl of peas off the table with his elbow. "Do you still have those?"

Harry was caught somewhere between laughter and shock. "You really went to all that trouble?"

Kingsley laughed, slapping Remus on the shoulder. "It wasn't only the football; Remus researched _everything_ to do with Muggles. You should have seen him – he had stacks of books on his desk, lists and photographs plastered over every inch of his office. He even picked the brains of criminals he brought in."

"Hey, some of them had valuable insights!" Remus said, giving Kingsley a shove. The other man only laughed harder.

"That's true." He grinned at Harry. "When you got that vomiting bug when you were, what, seven –"

"Six," Remus corrected.

"Right, you were six, and he couldn't convince you eat anything for a week. We'd arrested this little old lady who looked as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth – turned out she was selling bracelets to Muggles that had Cheering Charms cast on them."

"Spells that make you really, really happy," Remus informed Harry. "Sometimes they don't wear off Muggles, and the excessive smiling can cause serious damage to the facial muscles."

"It's not an offence that carries a hefty prison sentence, but it's still illegal. Anyway, she started going on about her two grand nieces, and how she was just trying to cheer them up as they were both sick."

"Which was utter bollocks because she had been selling the bracelets to tourists down South Bank for weeks."

"Anyway, Remus here sensed his opportunity and he told her he would recommend leniency at sentencing if she could tell him what a sick child was most likely to eat."

Harry could well imagine Remus, calm and business-like, discussing the merits of various broths. The man in question was rolling his eyes as the rest of the table snickered at him.

"And I kept my word – I recommended three months in the Ministry cells and a hefty fine."

"Yeah, but you also left Mad-Eye alone with her for ten minutes," Kingsley said, wiping his eyes, "She looked ready to pass out; Dawlish and Savage had to carry her out of the office!"

Everyone laughed and the twins broke into applause.

"Why is he called Mad-Eye, your boss?" Harry asked.

"Are you joking?" Fred and George asked.

"Is it not a bit obvious?" Kingsley said.

"He's never seen his face properly," Remus told him.

Kingsley slapped a hand to his forehead. "Of course he hasn't!"

"There was a picture of Moody in the _Prophet_ this morning," Ron said, "He was giving a press conference, or something."

"It was about the recent rise of dark objects throughout Britain," Percy said, "Honestly, Ronald, it wouldn't kill you to read the paper every now and then."

Ron glowered at his brother and muttered, "Smarmy git," but only so Harry could hear him. Percy fished out _The Daily Prophet_ from a nearby stack of letters and handed it to Harry, who was just getting used to moving photographs. On the cover was a large black and white photo, featuring a formidable looking man with grizzled hair and only half a nose. However, his eyes were even more distinctive; one was small, dark and beady, while the other was large and spun in every direction as he spoke. Mad-Eye seemed a very fitting name indeed.

"How did he lose his eye?" Harry asked.

"Oh, you don't want to know," Kingsley replied, looking grim, "Unless you want to lose your lunch, that is."

(-)(-)(-)

Later in the afternoon, Harry and the Weasley brood escaped to the back garden, where the redheads were explaining the rules of Quidditch to their new friend. The adults sat on the porch, sipping wine and watching as the twins began an argument over which Beater on the Holyhead Harpies was better.

Remus felt lighter than he had done in years. Harry finally knew the truth and miraculously had accepted and embraced it. Every day, Remus had introduced him to new aspects of the wizarding world: travelling by Floo, wizard chess, the most popular wizarding rock bands, and some basic spells that Harry could practice.

But nothing seemed to faze the boy; he soaked it all up like a sponge. In fact, Remus had walked into the kitchen one morning to find him poring over _Hogwarts: A History._ (Despite Remus's efforts, Harry had never been much of a bookworm, so this moment had been cause for jubilant pancake-making).

Remus didn't think he had ever been prouder of his godson. He watched the boys toss the Quaffle around. Maybe he could take Harry to a Quidditch game; after all, if he took after James, he might wind up playing for his house team...

Kingsley's deep voice brought him out of his thoughts. "I'd better get going."

"You don't sound overly thrilled," Arthur observed.

Kingsley heaved a dramatic sigh. "The European Magical Law Enforcement Conference is really not something to get excited about – you stick a couple hundred paranoid Aurors and Hit Wizards in a room and listen to them brag about the various ways they've almost died. I'll be lucky if I don't strangle someone by the end of it." He shook Arthur's hand and kissed Molly on the cheek. "Molly, thank you for an absolutely wonderful lunch. I'll be dreaming about this while eating hotel food for the next two days."

Molly beamed at him, and Kingsley bent down to ruffle Remus's hair.

"See you Wednesday, darling."

"Yeah, yeah, sod off sweetheart," Remus said. With a wave to the kids, Kingsley strode off to the apparition point.

Chuckling, Remus sat back in his chair again and looked over at Ginny, who was sitting on the porch steps, staring longingly at the group of boys.

"Why don't you go and join them, Gin?" he said.

Ginny shrugged. "They don't want to play with me," she muttered, picking a blade of grass from her shorts.

"Well, boys can be a little bit stupid."

Remus glanced over at Molly and Arthur, who were discussing their latest gnome infestation, and then leaned forward.

"I think you should show them just how good you are," he whispered to Ginny, "Don't you agree? After all, you and I both know you're better on a broom than any of them."

Ginny chewed her bottom lip, but she nodded, a grin spreading across her freckled face. Only Remus knew that she occasionally broke into the family broom shed when her brothers weren't around and 'borrowed' their brooms to practice on.

"True," she whispered back. Taking a deep breath, she climbed to her feet, tossed her long hair back and strode across the garden as though marching into battle.

Remus sat back in his chair, half-listening to Arthur and Molly's conversation. He would never admit it to them, but of all the Weasley children, Ginny was his favourite. Despite being the youngest in a family of rowdy boys, she was fierce, sharp as Gryffindor's sword and extremely funny. And although she was very much her own person, she reminded him greatly of another…

(-)(-)(-)

_**September, 1971**_

_ "Do people really stay up on these things?" Lily said, eyeing the broom, "They don't look very stable."_

_ "Of course they do," Remus said, "It's magic. C'mon, give it a go."_

_They had both missed their first flying lesson – due to Peeves locking them in an empty classroom for an hour – so Madam Hooch had given them time to practice on Saturday morning. Provided they didn't actually fly, of course._

_ "Go on, Lil – you can do it."_

_Lily tossed her long hair back and held her hand over the broom. "Up." The broom didn't move an inch. She gritted her teeth and tried again: "Up!"_

_This time the broom gave a little wiggle on the ground, before lying still. Lily rolled her eyes and let her hand fall to her side._

_ "Whatever, I don't think I'd like flying anyway." She didn't sound overly convinced as she eyed Remus's broom, which was currently hovering beside him and poking him in the ribs as it waited for him to mount it._

_ "Don't give up just yet," Remus said. "You have to believe that you can do it." He gently grabbed Lily's shoulders and moved her to stand in front of her broom. "Just imagine the broom is an extension of you – just another limb of your body that you're in control of."_

_Lily arched an eyebrow. "It's just a piece of wood, RJ."_

_ "Just try, will you. I won't tell anybody if nothing happens. Promise."_

_Lily sighed, stared down at the broom for a moment, and then screwed up her face in determination. "UP!"_

_The broom shot up into her hand so fast that she stumbled into Remus, who just about managed to keep them both upright. Shrieking with delight, Lily did a little dance, waving her broom above her head._

_ "I thought you didn't care about flying," Remus laughed._

_Lily stuck her tongue out at him, but kept dancing. Behind her, three Gryffindor boys strode across the lawn towards the lake._

_ "Hey Remus," James called, and Sirius waved. Peter gave him a nod, as he struggled to keep up with the other two. _

_Remus waved back. Lily rolled her eyes and turned her back on them. _

_ "I don't see why you're so nice to that lot," she said, "Potter and Black are nothing more than arrogant toerags."_

_ "They're not so bad when they're not trying to show off. And I can't exactly not talk to them – we sleep in the same dorm!"_

_ "Maybe they're nice to _you_, but you've seen how they treat Severus."_

_Remus sighed. "I know. I just really wish you could all get along."_

_Lily opened her mouth and promptly closed it again, shaking her head. "You're too kind for your own good, RJ. Some people just don't deserve it." She glanced at the three boys, who had turned from the lake and were now making their way towards the forest instead._

_ "Just because others aren't kind, doesn't mean we shouldn't be," Remus replied._

_His friend smiled. "You know, you sound very old at times."_

_ "Well, I'll never see ten again." Remus sighed, dramatically, and Lily laughed. Shouldering their brooms, they made their way towards the shed to return them. _

"_By the way," Lily said, "did you see the Prophet the other day? Three people were attacked by werewolves in Cardiff. I can't believe werewolves actually exist!"_

_Remus shrugged, but secretly felt a little uneasy. His father had mentioned the attack in his most recent letter, cautioning Remus to remain inside on full moons in case a werewolf was on the prowl. He glanced back to where the other three boys were disappearing into the trees, and longed to go with them, even though he knew it was forbidden. Back home, the Lupin's cottage bordered on a sprawling forest, and Remus had spent his childhood exploring it with his father, learning all about magical creatures in their natural habitats. To be this close to a forest and not be allowed to enter it… _

_In the distance, they heard a shout – Hagrid was shooing the boys out of the forest again, brandishing a shovel at them. Remus watched them as they ran back across the lawn, laughing and out of breath, but clearly undeterred. _

_ "I wonder if werewolves actually live in The Forbidden Forest," Lily said, as though reading his mind. "Dumbledore must know."_

_ "My father said there was one in there when he was at Hogwarts, but that she died after one of her transformations."_

_ "That's really sad," Lily said quietly. She followed Remus's gaze to the trees. "I wonder why she was living in there."_

Because she probably had nowhere else to go_, Remus thought, but he didn't tell Lily this. Having grown up in a Muggle family, she had no idea of the hatred and disgust many witches and wizards felt for lycanthropes – and Remus certainly didn't want to be the one to tell her._

_He knew his father had far more experience in these matters – he worked for the Ministry, after all, investigating dark creatures and their links to the Dark Lord. But Remus couldn't believe that all werewolves were bad, like Lyall did. I mean, they were people most of the time, right? Maybe if he met one, it would change his mind…_

_ "…being that hairy every month, don't you agree Remus? Remus?"_

(-)(-)(-)

Remus blinked away the memory and looked up. "I'm sorry, Molly, I was miles away. Did you say something?"

The older woman smiled at him. "Isn't that your partner's owl, dear?"

Sure enough, Proudfoot's handsome, spotted owl was perched on the porch railing. Remus fed him a treat as he read the note, written in Proudfoot's usual frank but vague manner.

_**Lupin, **_

_**Call me ASAP.**_

_**Proudfoot**_

_Not at all ominous_, Remus thought, getting to his feet. "Molly, would you mind terribly if I borrowed your Floo?"

"Of course not," Molly said, "Go on through to the sitting room."

"Thank you, I won't be long."

Moments later, Proudfoot's face appeared in the flames, wearing an expression of extreme annoyance. "Your boy Kit has been in touch again."

"Twice in one week? He must really like me."

"Well, make sure he buys you dinner before you drop your trousers for him. Anyway, he told me the meeting has been moved forward."

Last Monday, while picking up his weekly supply of counterfeit potions to flog, Kit had overheard a conversation between his supplier and his handler. The latter was to meet with two of the main players in the potions ring in a pub in Knockturn Alley on the Wednesday of the following week. Hence why Remus had been pulled into work on Harry's birthday to retrieve the information, since Kit refused to give it up to anyone else. Paranoia was a good quality in an informant, but the timing had been nothing short of irritating.

Scrimgeour, however, had been ecstatic at the news and spent over an hour briefing a six-Auror task force before he would allow Remus to leave.

"Moved forward to when? Tuesday?"

"Nope, tonight – 8:30 at _The Leaky Cauldron_."

"_Tonight_? It's Sunday, there's no way we'll be able to get a team together that fast! Half the department have gone to that bloody conference in Belgium, including Moody."

"Yep – the rest of our task force have gone with them. But we can handle it. There are only three of them, and they don't know we're coming."

Remus was still unsure. He didn't like going into situations blind, especially when he didn't know those involved. They might be skilled duellists or bumbling squibs.

"Why was the meeting moved?"

"Apparently two of them are leaving the country to meet with a new supplier they've just discovered. We might not get this chance again for a while," she added pointedly.

Remus scrubbed a hand over his face. "Right. Have you told Scrimgeour?"

"His mother-in-law is in St. Mungo's; incurable Dragon Pox. They don't think she'll last the weekend. Knowing Scrimgeour, he'd probably insist on coming with us, and I don't want to be responsible for his divorce."

"Fair point. Is there anyone else we could take?"

Proudfoot cocked her head. "We could take Paisley? He's in the office at the moment doing paperwork."

"On a Sunday?"

Paisley was a newly qualified Junior; exceptionally bright and hardworking, but overly inquisitive and a fan of Muggle action movies. Still, he was a promising young Auror and steady under pressure.

"Okay," Remus said, after a moment's thought, "Brief him thoroughly and make sure you tell him –"

"– not to be a hero," Proudfoot finished, rolling her eyes. "_I know_."

Remus pulled a face at her and she cackled. Even though Proudfoot was nearly a decade older than him, he had been promoted to Senior a year before her. Unlike the rest of the Juniors in the department at that time, she had never sulked or complained, and had treated Remus with the same level of light mockery that she did with everyone else. He appreciated that more than he could ever say.

"How did you get Kit to tell you that the meeting had been moved?" he said. "Last time he would only speak to me."

"Oh, well, he didn't want to tell me at first, but after I threatened to transfigure his balls into overripe pears and smash them with a hammer, he was surprisingly forthcoming."

The Auror in Remus wanted to scold her, but the Marauder in him was dying to snigger. He settled for a vaguely chastising smile. "You really shouldn't threaten an informant."

"Oh, I never would have actually done it," Proudfoot said, raising her eyebrows. "Imagine the mess."

"I'd really rather not. And on that note, I'll be going – see you at the office."

Proudfoot saluted him and was gone.

With a sigh, Remus returned to the porch, where Arthur was explaining his understanding of Muggle football to his amused wife.

"…and then sometimes, players throw themselves onto the ground on purpose, in the hopes of being granted a 'fail' by the referee."

"A fail? Does that mean the other team lose?" Spotting Remus, Molly smiled brightly. "There you are! Everything alright?"

"Well, yes and no; I've been called into work. I am terribly sorry to have to cut our evening short."

"Oh dear," Arthur said. "Nothing serious, I hope?"

"I doubt it, just unavoidable, I'm afraid. Anyway, I'd better get Harry home."

"Or he could stay here?" Molly suggested. "He seems to be getting along so well with Ron, and I'd hate for him to spend the evening alone at your house, or with that Muggle family of his." She wrinkled her nose; after hearing some of the Dursleys' antics, she was not at all enamoured by them. "We'll take good care of him, I promise."

Remus hesitated, glancing out at the garden. Harry did seem to be having a wonderful time, laughing and joking with Ron and the twins, and now even Ginny. He didn't want to spoil that. Not when Harry had to go back to Privet Drive tomorrow.

"If you're sure, Molly? I might not be back until quite late, though…"

"Oh, don't worry about that, Remus," she said. "We'll keep him as long as you need. I was planning on sausage sandwiches and trifle for supper, anyway."

"You'll be his new favourite person, Molly," Remus said, and she beamed at him, before shooing him off the porch. After a quick word with Harry, he strode away from The Burrow, turned on his heel and was gone.

(-)(-)(-)

"…and then she looked over at me, nose in the air, and said, 'Theodore, I don't think that is appropriate attire for a funeral.' So, I said, 'Listen, Missus, if he comes back from the dead and tells me that himself, I swear I'll put some on some trousers!'"

Tonks burst into laughter, promptly knocking over her flagon of Butterbeer.

"Well, _Theodore_, I don't think this is an appropriate story to tell our daughter," Andromeda said, her lips twitching, as she cleaned up the Butterbeer with a wave of her wand.

"Ah c'mon Andy," Ted said. "It's not like my socks weren't black, at least."

Andromeda finally gave in to a fit of giggles, as Tonks howled with laughter, rocking back in her chair and almost toppling right off it.

Since beginning the Auror program, finding time to visit her parents had become more and more challenging. Sunday dinner at _The Leaky Cauldron _had therefore become something of a routine for them, since she and her father almost always had the day off work.

The wizarding pub was surprisingly busy that evening, despite the beautiful weather outside, as dozens of patrons met friends and family after a day's shopping in Diagon Alley. Wiping her eyes, Tonks took a sip of her fizzy drink, a sigh of contentment escaping her. She had spent the day practicing the Individual Anti-Disapparition Jinx; a spell which prevented a single person from disapparating within a certain space. It wasn't as powerful as the normal Anti-Disapparition Jinx, such as the one placed over Hogwarts or the Ministry of Magic, but it was useful when trying to capture a single offender. Plus, she had an exam on it the following morning, and she hoped to impress her instructor, especially since her marks in Stealth and Tracking had been so low recently. She had even been practicing the jinx in combination with the Incarcerous spell, but she had yet to perfect that particular variation.

Her roommate, on the other hand, had found her commitment to the task infuriating – Mattie had been trying to set her up with a guy from the RCMC for weeks, and was not pleased that Tonks was prioritising work over play. Tonks had finally given in, agreeing to a casual date _after_ she passed her exam, which bought the double reward of Mattie's silence and her help in practicing. Tonks just hoped that her date wasn't like the RCMC guys she had met so far: arrogant, insensitive, frightful haircuts.

Pondering whether jeans with a halter top, or the long-sleeved skater dress would be the better choice for a first date, Tonks took a sip of the new Butterbeer Tom had brought her. Meanwhile, something over her head caught her father's eye.

"Dora, luv, isn't that Remus Lupin over there?"

Sure enough, Lupin was making his way towards the bar, smoothly edging past a group of raucous older wizards. Tonks watched as he quietly spoke to Tom, and judging by how quickly the affable grin left the proprietor's face, it wasn't something pleasant. Nodding curtly, Tom poured Lupin a drink and moved away towards the other end of the bar, his expression troubled.

"He's gotten better with age, hasn't he?"

Tonks turned to her mother. "Sorry, who?"

"Lupin," Andromeda replied, nodding towards the bar. "He's not bad looking at all. Used to be a little gangly, but now –"

"Mum!"

"What? It's true."

"I'll say," Ted added, "Although he did always have a nice arse." He turned to his wife. "Didn't he win Witch Weekly's Most Shapely Arse competition in the early 80s?"

"Twice, I think," Andromeda said, looking thoughtful. "He's been nominated again this year, actually."

"Wonder if he'll beat Lockhart."

"Lockhart's arse really doesn't deserve that award. His smile, on the other hand…"

"You guys are disturbing," Tonks said, and her parents laughed. "That's my boss, you know!"

"I'd rather have a boss who's nice to look at," Ted mused, "I like McAdair as my manager, but she's definitely no Celestina Warbeck."

"You told me you didn't fancy Celestina Warbeck," Andromeda said, narrowing her eyes.

"Not personally," Ted said, his cheeks becoming tinged with pink. "I can just appreciate her aesthetic appeal as an objective outsider."

"I'll bet."

Tonks barely heard her parents as they continued to squabble – she was focused on Lupin, who was still at the bar, but hadn't touched his drink. Instead, his eyes were fixed on three wizards seated near the fireplace, who were deep in conversation, in between swigs of something that definitely was not Butterbeer. A more mismatched group was not uncommon in the wizarding pub; the eldest of the trio was thickset and unkempt, with thinning, grey hair and a nose to rival Severus Snape's, while the second man was tall and dark, with beady eyes and expensive black robes. The youngest was somewhere in his twenties, the lank, blonde hair and ripped jeans perfecting the appearance of dishevelled youth.

What was unusual about them was not their collective deportment, but their behaviour. Whenever another customer passed too close to them, they would abruptly stop speaking, and several times they had broken into aggressive, but whispered, arguments.

Tonks had noticed them on entering the pub earlier in the evening, and something about their mere presence had given her a chill, although she had dismissed it as Moody-level paranoia. Still, she had steered her parents away from the table next to them, and found a spot on the opposite end of the pub instead, near to the front door. At the time, she had wondered if this was how she would be from now on – constantly assuming the worst of complete strangers and positioning herself near an exit at all times.

Yet, if Lupin was also suspicious of the men, then perhaps she had been right to trust her instincts? She took a deep drink and sat up straighter in her chair, and unbidden, her mother's earlier words popped into her mind.

"_Used to be a little gangly, but now –"_

No, she was not going to think about her boss in that way. She was not going to think about how even though he was tall and lean, he was also muscular, with strong arms and broad shoulders. She was also not going to think about how soft his hair looked or how piercing his eyes were. And she definitely was _not_ going to check out his –

At that moment, the back entrance to _The_ _Leaky Cauldron_ opened and Tonks glanced over to see Proudfoot enter the pub. Weirdly, she glanced at Lupin but didn't go near him, instead taking a seat at an empty table and flipping open a copy of _The Daily Prophet. _Her eyes, too, flickered towards the group of men.

Five minutes later, the front door opened again and one of the Junior Aurors – Palfrey or Pursley, or something like that – strolled in. He made his way to the opposite end of the bar to Lupin, and whispered something to a young witch and wizard who were standing there, waiting to order. Looking stricken, they left the pub without a backwards glance, and the Auror moved on to the next couple. A quick glance told Tonks that Lupin and Proudfoot were engaged in a similar task, quietly removing people from the pub every few minutes.

Something was definitely wrong.

The three Aurors had positioned themselves in such a way that they surrounded the group, but remained out of their direct eye-line. Tonks glanced towards the three men, who remained oblivious, and reached inside her jacket to grip her wand. She was torn between wanting to get her parents out of there, and staying right where she was. The pub was still quite full, but as customers continued to trickle out, it would soon become obvious that something was amiss.

The other Aurors seemed to be thinking along the same lines and were closing in fast. The Junior Auror – Paisley, that was it! – waved his wand in what Tonks recognised as the normal Anti-Disapparation Jinx, and she felt her heart begin to pound, knowing that neither she nor her parents would be able to apparate out of the pub either.

As Proudfoot slowly slid her wand from its holster, the three wizards abruptly stopped speaking and stood up, as did four other wizards at another table in the corner, and another three wizards who had been sitting at the bar. And they all had their wands drawn.

The three Aurors were now surrounded and completely outnumbered.

A hush fell over the pub, as customers began to realise something was off. A little boy at the table next to Tonks began to wail and his mother tried to hush him, her own face etched with fear.

"Good evening, Aurors," the elder, hook-nosed wizard said.

"Yeah, wassup mate?" Proudfoot replied, as Lupin surveyed the new group of wizards, his face impassive. Paisley had grown a little pale, but had his wand grasped tightly and appeared ready for anything.

"We expected you a little earlier," the wizard continued, "I began to worry you weren't coming."

"Well, now you're just giving me Yule Ball flashbacks," Proudfoot said with a shudder, "My date was horribly clingy. To this day, she still sends me Valentine's Day cards."

"Well, we're all here now," Lupin said. His eyes flickered over the two dozen customers still in the pub and Tonks knew what he was thinking. In a duel with that many people, spells and curses were bound to go awry. His eyes met Tonks's and widened briefly, before shifting away again.

"But we could all just walk away?" he suggested, mildly, as though he were simply proposing a sunset stroll through Diagon Alley. "Everybody wins."

"You know, we did consider that," the hook-nosed wizard replied, with a slow smile that displayed dark yellow teeth. "But then, we thought, where's the fun in that?"

Before Tonks could breathe, all wands were drawn and the dim pub was suddenly bright with flashes of red and yellow.

"DOWN!" Lupin shouted, as the three Aurors quickly deflected the curses. "Everybody on the floor! NOW!"

Customers dove for cover under tables and chairs, as curses and hexes flew in every direction. Within a minute, Lupin and Proudfoot had stunned three of their attackers, gaining back a slight advantage. Paisley quickly cast several Shield Charms over the pub-goers crouched on the floor and then began duelling with the young, blonde wizard.

Tonks made to join them, but her mother grabbed her arm before she could move.

"Don't even think about it," Andromeda hissed, pulling her underneath their table and casting her own Shield Charm. "You'll get in the way _and_ get yourself killed."

"Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence, mother," Tonks muttered.

"Listen to her – you're better off staying out of their way," Ted added. "They know what they're doing."

He seemed to be right; Proudfoot stunned two more wizards, and joined Lupin, who was currently duelling three at once. Tonks had witnessed duels before, first at Hogwarts, and more recently among the Junior Aurors in their training sessions, which she, Walden and Miriam sometimes stayed late to watch. But while those had been full of mischief hexes and non-lethal curses, this was something else entirely. The air in the pub crackled with dark magic and the entire building shook under the weight of it.

While the group of dark wizards were more vicious than their opponents in the curses they chose, they were also sloppier and missed their targets more often than not. The Aurors, on the other hand, were incredibly shrewd and quick; Tonks barely saw their lips move, as they effortlessly switched between spells and counter-curses and back again.

Paisley was quick and precise in his wandwork, and always had a shield up. Proudfoot was flamboyant but focused, rarely missing her mark, and seemed to gain more energy based on how irritated her opponent became.

Lupin, however, was exceptional. He seemed able to anticipate the spell his adversary would use against him seconds before they tried, and was able to both block the attack and counter it in a split-second. He also used a range of jinxes that Tonks had never seen before; one of his attackers struggled to breathe through the thick, blue fur growing out of his nostrils, while another dropped his wand and began break-dancing, yelling profanities at Lupin all the while.

And then, everything changed.

The young, blonde wizard caught Paisley in the face with some kind of hex and the young Auror fell to the ground. Proudfoot turned her head when she heard him cry out, and Lupin blocked the Expulso Curse that the hook-nosed wizard shot at her.

Seizing the opportunity, the tall, black wizard bolted for the front door and Lupin fired a spell after him, at the same moment the blonde wizard threw a curse at the Auror. As the tall wizard toppled to the floor, bound by the Incarcerous Spell, Lupin was flung across the pub and over a long table, leaving a thick, sickening smear of blood across the oaken top.

**AN:** This seems an appropriate spot for a cliffhanger… Until next time, dear readers! Please R&amp;R :)


	10. The Absence of Light

**AN: **Many thanks to all my lovely reviewers and followers for all your support! I was working on original fiction over the summer – hence my slowness to update here – but I should be updating _Recruits _more regularly from now on.

Also, a random sidenote: I recently attended my first ever LeakyCon in Dublin! It was such a remarkable experience – to be surrounded by so many people who are as passionate about the Potterverse and its inhabitants as I am. I even attended a talk on fanfiction and felt so completely at home. To the organisers of LeakyCon: you are amazing.

Righto, on we go!

**Disclaimer:** As always, anything from the books belongs to JK Rowling.

**Trigger Warning:** Scenes of violence and injury, and suggestion of sexual assault in this chapter.

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

**_The Absence of Light_**

There was fire in his chest.

At least that's what it felt like, because he couldn't breathe.

Remus tried to sit up, but he could barely raise his head off the ground, let alone the rest of his body. He felt battered and thoroughly bruised, as though he had just been trampled by a herd of hippogriffs. His right side was sticky and far too warm; he was definitely injured, but he couldn't bear to look there yet. First, he needed to breathe.

Yet, no matter how hard he tried, his lungs wouldn't cooperate, clenching their sides together as his diaphragm refused to shift. He had to stay calm; he would lose more oxygen if he panicked. Turning his head to the side, he tried to spot Proudfoot through the maze of table legs and overturned chairs, but he couldn't see properly.

Largely because Lily Potter was blocking his view.

_You know, now is not an ideal time to go into shock, _she said, crouching beside him.

"I know that!"Remus tried to say, but his lungs tightened even more. Black spots began to swarm in front of his eyes, and he felt very dizzy, even though he was lying down.

_You need to breathe, Remus! _Lily said._ Your partner needs your help. You need to breathe and get up!_

"I'm…try…ing…" Remus gritted, every syllable like a knife in his chest. The light was fading in front of his eyes, and darkness was swiftly closing in, like spilled ink spreading across yellow parchment.

_Well, I'm all for trying, but this is one of those occasions where you have to transition from trying to doing, tout suite. C'mon, Remus: breathe!_

Remus dragged his uninjured left hand up to his chest, and repeatedly, desperately, slammed it against his ribcage.

_Breathe Remus! Right now – BREATHE!_

With a mighty heave, Remus pushed himself onto his left side and gasped, finally dragging in a deep lungful of air.

_And you said I was crap at motivational speeches, _Lily said, smirking.

"Yeah, yeah," Remus muttered, and then bit back a yelp when he saw his right arm. Numerous deep, bloody gashes ran from shoulder to wrist, and he could feel a persistent throbbing in his right side underneath the blast vest he was wearing. Miraculously, his right hand itself was uninjured, but that wasn't of much use to him. He might be able to hold his wand, but he sure as hell wouldn't be able to wave it.

Speaking of which, where was his wand?

He looked around the floor, but he couldn't see it anywhere. Panic started to rise within him, but he forced it back down again. He could still perform wandless magic, but it would be stronger if he actually had his wand near him when he did so.

"Auror Lupin?" a sing-song voice called out. "Where are you?"

It was the blonde wizard, making his way across the pub, casually ducking to avoid the jets of light from Proudfoot's duel.

_Great, this twat, _Lily muttered. _You'd better move. Quick, that way!_

Remus looked to where she was pointing and saw a narrow passageway through a maze of smaller tables in the darkest part of the pub. If Remus stayed low to the ground, the blonde might not see him.

_Go go go!_

Staying down on his hands (well, hand) and knees, Remus gritted his teeth and edged quickly along the floor. His wand arm hung uselessly at his side, leaving fat droplets of blood behind as he moved. Remus whispered a healing spell, but whatever curse he had been hit with would not allow the blood to clot. It would be moments before the blonde wizard found him, in a twisted Hazel-and-Gretel trail. Muttering _Evanesco _at the floor behind him, Remus continued on his way, half-crawling, half-dragging himself past several civilians who were huddled beneath their tables.

He knew he should say something to make them feel better; to be reassuring in his capacity as a law enforcer, but all he could think about was getting to his wand. He heard bangs and shouts, and looked through a gap in the chairs to see Proudfoot duelling two wizards – the one with the hook-nose and another, younger wizard with caramel skin and jet black hair.

_She's pretty good,_ Lily whispered beside him. _Ever think of going for an older woman?_

"She not interested in men," Remus whispered back. "Now shush and help me find my wand." Lily rolled her eyes, but continued to follow behind him.

Finally, Remus spotted his wand, lying beside an overturned chair, underneath one of the long tables Tom used for larger parties. He was about to move towards it, when he heard the blonde wizard's voice again, this time too close for comfort:

"Oh, you've left a trail for me. How considerate – for that, I may kill you quickly."

Bollocks. Had the cleaning charm not worked?

Not daring to look back, Remus lurched forward, ignoring the pain in his side as he practically threw himself underneath the table. Stretching out his good arm, he tried to grab at the wand, but he couldn't quite reach –

Suddenly, a hand shot out and snatched it up, and Remus felt his heart constrict.

Until he saw Nymphadora Tonks peering up at him from the other side of the table, her face pale and eyes bright. He didn't think he would ever have been so pleased to see her.

"Quickly, this way," she said, gesturing for him to follow her behind a large, wooden pillar. Remus barely hesitated, crawling quickly after her.

"How many suspects are still active," he whispered, when they were both well hidden.

"Just your blonde stalker, the tanned one, and the one with Snape's nose." She handed Remus his wand. "The rest have been knocked out – aside from the guy who's still break-dancing. Cool spell, by the way!"

Remus nodded and then frowned. "Snape's nose?"

"Snape, the Hogwarts potions-master."

"Yes, I'm aware of who Snape is."

"Well then, I don't understand your confusion about the nose comment."

"I wasn't confused; it just wasn't the first thing that came to mind when I saw that wizard, that's all."

Tonks raised a sceptical eyebrow. "_Really?_"

Okay, it might have been the _second _thing that came to mind, but he wasn't going to tell her that. Instead, Remus peered around the side of the pillar. The blonde wizard was standing roughly twenty feet away, staring at the ceiling and cocking his head from side to side, as though listening for something. Whatever he was doing, it wouldn't be long until he found them, and Remus was in no fit state for open battle. He needed Proudfoot's help.

"Do you have a plan?" Tonks mouthed.

"Sort of," Remus replied. "Stay where you are, Nymphadora."

"But -"

"Stay where you are."

"You can barely hold your wand!"

"Don't exaggerate."

"Your arm looks like it's about to fall off."

"How very comforting. Now, stay where you are – that's an order!"

Remus could feel Tonks glowering after him, as he crept from his hiding place towards Proudfoot and her two opponents. Wandless magic was usually no problem for him, but he was growing weaker by the minute from blood loss, which would not help his case. They needed to finish this battle quickly.

Ducking behind an overturned table, Remus focused all of his energy on the young, tanned wizard. It took a few seconds, but he was quite proud of the Stunning Spell he produced, catching the wizard square in the chest and tossing him backwards.

Proudfoot let out a whoop and began a ferocious new attack on the Snape-nosed wizard, driving him back. Which only left –

"Look out!"

Hearing Tonks's shout, Remus didn't need telling twice and threw himself to the side, narrowly avoiding a yellow jet of light. When he looked back, a large scorch mark smouldered on the rug where he had been sitting.

The same rug the blonde wizard was also standing on, ten feet away. Which gave Remus a fairly stupid idea…

"Well, well," the blonde wizard said, with a smirk, pointing his wand at Remus's chest. "You thought you could actually get away from me."

"I hope that's not a line you use on women," Remus replied, slowly rising to his knees, clutching his wand behind his back. "It might need a little work."

The blonde's smile stretched wider, "I don't use lines to get women to do what I want."

"No?" Remus said. His wand was slippery with blood; he couldn't grip it right. "Forgive me, but you don't exactly strike me as an accidental Casanova."

The younger wizard's laughter was jarring. "You're very naïve, Auror Lupin. I only meant, why use words on women when I can use spells instead?"

The implication of what he meant made bile rise in Remus's throat and his eyes flickered from side to side, searching. He needed a distraction for his plan to work; for the bastard to turn his back for just a moment –

As if hearing his thoughts, Tonks popped up from her hiding place.

"Oy, dingbat!"

The blonde turned and quickly blocked the hex she fired at him. He raised his wand to fire back, but Remus dropped forward, gripped the rug in his good hand and yanked hard. The wizard tripped forwards and slammed his head on the side of a table on his way to the floor. Thin ropes shot out from the end of Tonks's wand and wrapped around the wizard's unconscious form, rendering him immobile. Remus finally let his own wand slip through his fingers.

"I thought I told you to stay out of it," he said.

"No, you told me to stay put," Tonks replied, grinning as she walked over to him. "Which I technically did."

Remus took the hand she offered and pulled himself to his feet, trying not to wobble. He really was feeling very light-headed now.

On the other side of the pub, Proudfoot finally managed to stun and bind her final opponent and gave a loud, victory cry. Scattered applause broke out across the pub, growing louder when the patrons realised the danger was over, but Remus barely heard them; he had just noticed the spell Tonks had used to bind the blonde wizard.

"Individual Anti-Disapparition Jinx combined with Incarcerous? I didn't know you had been taught this combination yet."

"We haven't, but I thought it would be useful, so…" Tonks trailed off, her eyes wide. "Not that I think our classes are going too slow, or anything! I just thought it would be good to stay on top of things, and –"

She continued to ramble about useful combinations she had seen Aurors use in training, and Remus felt himself becoming strangely amused by her. She was a little clumsy when speaking, her thoughts tumbling out in haphazard, imperfect bursts; particularly when she was flustered. Every other member of the Black family Remus had met possessed an unrivalled verbal eloquence and wit, even when emotions ran high and tempers boiled over. Even Bellatrix had expressed her deluded assertions with a sophistication that belied her wild eyes and vicious character. Tonks clearly didn't have any trouble expressing herself – considering the speed at which words were leaving her mouth – but there was something uninhibited about it. Whatever other traits she shared with her family, a silver tongue wasn't one of them.

"– so, that's what led me to combine that hex with, oh, what's the name of that other hex. You know, the one that causes your fingers to swell to the size of cucumbers? Oh, it's –"

"It's perfect."

Tonks stopped mid-babble, her cheeks pink. "What is?"

"The spell you performed." Remus ran his wand over the blonde wizard's bindings. "It was perfectly executed; I couldn't have done it better myself. Well done."

Tonks blinked and her cheeks flushed brighter as she bit her lip against a smile. "Really? I mean, thank you, sir!"

"You're welcome."

The young woman continued to beam and Remus suddenly felt a bit uncomfortable under her gaze. Clearing his throat, he turned to find his partner in the crowd.

"Proudfoot, you okay?"

"Never better, Lupin my good man," Proudfoot called back, waving her wand to bind their unconscious attackers together. She had a large cut across her chest and another across her cheek, but she grinned over at him nonetheless. "Who needs a proper team, eh?"

"It would have been useful all the same. Is Paisley alright?"

"I think my dad is looking after him," Tonks said.

"Your _dad_?"

Remus looked over to see a fair-haired man leaning over Paisley, passing his wand over the young man's limp form.

"Yeah, he's a healer at St. Mungo's – specialises in spell damage."

"Right, well, that's…convenient, I suppose." Remus turned to Proudfoot, who had just appeared at his side. "We should contact Scrimgeour before the media gets wind of this. Maybe contact the MLEP too, see if they have any officers to spare."

"On it."

Proudfoot waved her wand, and her eagle patronus soared above their heads for a moment, before disappearing through the wall. She turned back, her eyes wide as she took in his arm.

"Are _you_ alright?"

Pub patrons started to emerge from underneath tables and were giving them curious looks. Remus hoped none of them were armed with cameras.

"I'll be fine," he said, even though he felt like throwing up and fainting, in no particular order.

"You should sit down," Proudfoot said, giving him a gentle shove towards a chair.

"Really, I'm fine."

"I can take a look at that arm, if you like?"

Tonks's father stood beside him. Paisley was now awake, sitting slumped in a chair, looking pale and exhausted, but thankfully alright. Proudfoot marched over to him, as Remus turned back to the shorter man. "It's Mr Tonks, isn't it?"

The man's face was familiar; Remus knew they had met before, but that had been another life entirely – one that sometimes felt as though it had only been a dream.

"Ted, please." The man stuck his hand out to shake Remus's, and then laughed a little. "Sorry, wrong hand."

"Yeah." Remus briefly clasped the man's warm hand and let go. "Well, thank you but I'm fine. Really."

Ted looked at his arm, which could barely be seen under all the blood, and then back at Remus, good-natured amusement evident on his round face.

"Since I can currently see part of your radius bone, I'm afraid I have to disagree," Ted said.

"You'll have to force yourself on 'im, Healer Tonks," Proudfoot called. "He'll never admit how badly off he is."

"Proudfoot, really –"

"One time, he'd been hit with a nasty slicing spell – nearly took his leg clean off. But Lupin being Lupin, he just dragged himself along, smiling and saying, 'Don't worry – 'tis but a flesh wound!'"

Tonks giggled and Remus felt himself begin to colour. He didn't like attention when he was injured. Ted, however, did not laugh and leaned in close to Remus.

"I promise I'm good at what I do," he said, quietly. "And you are losing a little too much blood at the moment. I'm concerned that you may pass out."

Unless the walls really were wiggling, Remus thought the healer may be right...

"Alright," he muttered, allowing Ted to steer him towards a chair as Proudfoot strode off to speak to Tom, who was staring around his ruined pub with an expression of utter dismay.

Ted waved his wand a few times, frowned when nothing happened, and then stared at Remus's arm for a full minute before clicking his fingers.

"Ah, I've got it!"

He passed his wand over the ripped flesh again, and the bleeding finally stopped. Another wave of his wand, and the blood began to smear, as though being wiped by an invisible cloth.

Once all the blood had been cleared away, Remus could see just how damaged his arm was, and he felt his stomach turn over. The gashes were bone deep and too numerous to count, each several inches long. A small gasp from behind him told him that Tonks had seen it too, and suddenly the idea of her seeing him vulnerable was unbearable.

Her cousin, the _traitor_, would have cracked a joke at this moment – how werewolves should have better reflexes than this, how he was clearly losing his skill, how he hoped Remus performed better than this in bed. Remus had spent the past ten years trying to banish that voice from his mind, and he had been largely successful. He didn't need another Black family member to take its place.

"Tonks, why don't you see if Proudfoot needs help," he said, shortly, not looking at her.

"I'm fine, I can handle it."

"That doesn't –"

He turned around and promptly swallowed his words. Tonks's face was ghostly white, and she was biting her lip so hard it had started to bleed. Nevertheless, she kept her gaze fixed on his arm, barely blinking, as though forcing herself to do so. Despite his discomfort, Remus felt a pang of sympathy. Family connections aside, she was only a recruit, and this was possibly the worst – if not the first – serious injury she had ever seen. Even worse, it had happened to someone who had years of experience duelling dark wizards.

Trainee and Junior Aurors often quit once they witnessed the severe injuries their colleagues suffered, and the brutal and unpredictable attacks that were part of the job. Remus thought the nasty little voice in his head might have been happy for her to reconsider her position on the squad, but he just felt sorry for her. He remembered the first time he had seen a colleague wounded in battle; he still saw it sometimes, in his nightmares.

"I'm sure you can handle it," Remus said at last, "but if I pass out, I would rather have as few witnesses as possible. Reputation is important in this line of work, you know."

Tonks finally tore her eyes away from his arm and gave him a small, forced smile. "Okay, I'll help preserve your street cred."

"I appreciate that."

She walked away towards Proudfoot, straightening her back as she went. Remus looked back at Ted, and found the other man giving him a curious look.

"I thought a department run by Alastor Moody would ascribe to a more terror-inducing mode of training," he said, "You know, scare them until they piss their pants type of set-up."

"Oh, he did that with my generation," Remus said, "Then he realised how difficult it is to get the stains out of the carpet."

Ted laughed loudly and waved his wand again. The pair of them sat in companionable silence as Ted worked, first cleaning the cuts and then stitching the skin back together.

"I haven't seen this curse in a long time," he said, thoughtfully.

"Really?" Remus winced as his skin slowly began to knit together. "I can honestly say I've never had the pleasure of its company before now."

"It was a big favourite at one point during the war, but it takes quite a lot of skill to cast, so dark wizards generally relied on easier curses. Thank Merlin." He glanced up at Remus. "I'm sorry I don't have any painkilling potions on me, but I can send Dora out for something if you –"

"No need, I have a pretty high threshold for pain."

"I can see that," Ted said, raising his eyebrows, "Normal people cry at this part."

"I can start wailing, if you'd prefer it that way."

Ted snorted. "You know, the angle that curse hit you at, I'm surprised you weren't more seriously injured."

"I think my blast vest took most of the impact," Remus said, shifting a little and wincing again when his ribs protested.

"Well, I'm glad to see that some of the Auror squad have taken to wearing those," Ted said, with an approving nod. "Five years ago, you'd swear wearing any form of protection was a sign of weakness."

Remus gave a huff of amusement. "Oh believe me, to some of them it still is. I had to force Proudfoot into one this evening."

He glanced over to where his partner was reading the Magi-Legal Rights to their prisoners, while Tonks checked their bindings. Two members of the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol had turned up and were taking statements from witnesses, looking important and puffing out their chests as they strutted around the room.

"Rather impressive, being able to hold off a dark wizard like that while injured," Ted said.

"Not really, when your other options are death or dismemberment," Remus said, watching as his arm slowly became a little less raw. Magic was such a wonderful thing.

"I beg to differ," Ted continued. "In fact, I'm rather glad you're teaching my daughter."

That pulled Remus up short. "You are?"

Ted fixed his bright blue eyes on Remus's. "Yes, I am. Don't imagine I'm ignorant of the part you played in capturing Bellatrix nine years ago. Alastor Moody came to us that night and told us. You undoubtedly saved my daughter's life then, and I know you'll do your best for her now."

Guilt felt like a leaden weight in his stomach. Saving Andromeda and her family had never been part of the reason he had pursued Bellatrix the way he did. Only revenge had driven him back then.

"Anyway, shirt off, Auror Lupin," Ted said, sitting up in his chair once more.

Remus blinked. "Er, this conversation is taking a strange turn."

The other man laughed loudly. "Vest or no vest, you might have some internal injuries from the force of the curse. I need to examine you."

"Yeah, I don't think I'll be taking my shirt off in the middle of _The Leaky Cauldron_. Thanks all the same, though."

"If you're concerned about the spectators, I can conjure a screen for you to hide behind?"

Remus was mid-laugh, when his eyes locked on the person standing a few feet behind Ted, staring back at him from the shadows of the room.

_Bellatrix_.

But it was impossible – she was in Azkaban. And yet, there she stood, her dead eyes fixed on him. Cold fury flooded into his chest and he yanked his arm from the healer's grasp, pulling his wand from its holster and taking aim.

But before he could curse her into oblivion, Ted grabbed his wand arm and forced it down, earning a gasp of pain from Remus. What the bloody hell was the man thinking? Remus twisted away, shoving Ted to the ground and aimed again. He wouldn't let her escape; not now, not ever –

"STOP! Lupin, stop – that's my wife!"

Remus paused, but didn't lower his wand. Ted moved in front of him, holding his hands out as though he would catch whatever spell Remus cast.

"That's Andromeda, not her sister."

The woman stepped forward into the light and Remus could see her properly; how her hair was light brown instead of black, how her eyes were wide and frightened, not heavy-lidded and promising death.

His mind felt fuzzy and overloaded, his thoughts dragged away into a whirlpool where he couldn't reach them. This was some kind of trick, it had to be, and yet... He had met Andromeda before, but she had looked different, he was sure she had! He couldn't think properly. Lily would know, she would –

With a lurch, Remus realised he hadn't seen her since he had found his wand under the table. He looked for her face in the crowd, but he already knew it wouldn't be there. Lily was gone. He felt all the rage drain out of him and bone-deep loss take its place, chilling him more than a hundred dementors.

"I…" Remus finally lowered his wand, suddenly aware of all the eyes on him. "I'm sorry, Mrs Tonks."

Andromeda moved forward, as though she wanted to say something, but Remus quickly thanked Ted for his help and walked away to where Proudfoot was moving the prisoners out to the alley and a waiting Portkey.

"Hang on, I've only half healed your arm," Ted called after him.

"Then it's only half as bad as it was," Remus replied.

As he passed her, he could feel Nymphadora Tonks's dark eyes on him, but he couldn't look at her. All he could see was the absence of light.

(-)(-)(-)

The next morning, Tonks arrived at the Ministry, both exhausted and wide awake. After the battle in _The Leaky Cauldron_, she had been unable to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw flashes of red and yellow light, and shadowy figures with their wands drawn, pointed at her. She saw blood dripping from the ceiling, while a blonde wizard laughed and laughed and her parents lay dead on the floor...

Rest had not come easily.

But what really had her stomach in knots this morning was Lupin – what on earth was she going to say to him? _Thanks for saving my life and then almost killing my mother by accident? _

The annoying thing was, she had actually been getting along with him for once – like colleagues, rather than student and boss who avoided prolonged eye contact with one another. He had even been impressed by her spellwork! But then all of that had gone to arse when he had looked at her mother and seen Bellatrix instead.

Tonks had always noted the resemblance between the two sisters; it was impossible not to, really. But she had seen the differences more – their hair, their eyes, and how her mother's smile, though sometimes overly polite, held no trace of malice. That Lupin could have mistaken Andromeda for her sister seemed absurd. But then again, Tonks had never known her aunt. Perhaps there was more of a resemblance there than she realised?

Andromeda had been almost silent after Tonks had accompanied them home for a glass of wine after dinner. Normally, her mother would tell her to wipe her feet and hang up her cloak properly, not drape it over the bannister. But this time she said nothing; only wandered into the living room and sank slowly into an armchair, her eyes staring but unfocused.

"It's been a long time since someone mistook Andy for her sister," Ted had whispered to Tonks. "During the war, it happened all the time – your mother wound up cutting most of her hair off so the Aurors could tell the difference. Didn't really work though. I think she was relieved when we went into hiding. There was nobody to see us then."

Tonks barely remembered that period in her early life; when they hid away from the world and never strayed outside. The only thing she did remember was her parents fear – how they were constantly on edge and fretful, barely letting Tonks into the back garden or near the windows at night. Bellatrix had sworn to eliminate her sister's family and, according to Ted, she had meant business.

Finally arriving in the Auror department, Tonks stifled a yawn behind her hand. Maybe she should get a cup of coffee to wake herself up – but what if Lupin was in the tea room? She stuck her head around the door and immediately relaxed.

The only occupant was Miriam, who also looked exhausted (although probably not for the same reason). She waved Tonks over.

"I've just made a fresh pot," Miriam said, pouring them both a coffee. "You ready for this?"

Tonks just nodded. She had performed the jinx perfectly at _The Leaky_, but what if she couldn't replicate it now? At least she had a witness; Lupin had seen her cast it. She was hardly going to ask him to testify to that fact, though.

They made their way towards the training room, where Auror MacDermott was cleansing the space of previous enchantments and setting up new targets. The rest of the recruits were wandering about the room, waving their wands in practice and muttering to themselves.

MacDermott looked up as they entered and frowned through her fringe. "Tonks, what are you doing here?"

"Er, I'm here for the test, ma'am?"

The Auror raised an eyebrow. "You've been given an exemption. Didn't you get my owl this morning?"

Tonks blinked. "No, I must have missed it. An _exemption_?"

"That darn owl keeps getting lost," MacDermott muttered, "I think it might be time to retire her. Anyway, you don't need to sit the exam this morning – you've been given an automatic pass."

"But why?" Tonks said, confused, although she was seriously enjoying the startled look on Grayson's face. "I don't understand."

MacDermott sighed, as though Tonks was being deliberately obtuse and shooed her outside, shutting the door behind them.

"Auror Lupin informed me of what transpired last night at _The Leaky Cauldron_. It is his opinion that since you have proven you can perform the Individual Anti-Disapparition Jinx perfectly while under pressure in a real-life situation, you have more than proven your proficiency. I trust his word on this."

Tonks felt as though she had been hit with a Stunner. "He really said that?"

MacDermott ignored her. "You have been awarded full marks for this assignment and therefore have the rest of the morning off. I suggest you use your free time wisely."

And with that, she turned on her heel and vanished back into the room, closing the door behind her. Tonks stared at it for a long moment, before striding back down the corridor towards Lupin's office.

He was there already, leaning against the wall outside, mug of tea in hand as he frowned at a scroll. Tonks dithered a little, then mentally smacked herself and marched up to him.

"Good morning, Auror Lupin," she said, brightly.

Lupin visibly stiffened and turned to look at her. "Good morning, Tonks. How are you?"

"I'm very well. Bit hungry, but that's what happens when you skip breakfast."

"Er, yes, that's true I suppose..."

He was pale and exhausted, black shadows hugging the skin beneath his eyes. He looked like he hadn't slept at all, either.

"I wanted to say thank you," Tonks continued, before she lost her nerve, "For what you said to Auror MacDermott and – well, for getting me out of that exam. It was really great of you."

Lupin cleared his throat and looked back at his scroll. "You don't need to thank me."

"Yes, but I want to –"

"I understand, but you really don't have to –"

"Okay, but I still –"

"Tonks, really, I –"

"You know," Tonks interrupted, "you could just say "you're welcome Tonks, now get lost"."

One side of Lupin's mouth curved upwards. "Yes, I suppose I could. Although I doubt it would have the desired effect."

Was he teasing her? Tonks bit back a smile of her own. Maybe all was not lost.

"I always find its best to be direct in what you want, sir. Less of a chance of a person misreading the situation, or interpreting any unintended subliminal messages."

Lupin was definitely smiling now. "You really are strangely like Moody at times."

"Ouch."

"Oh don't worry – as long as you don't start hiding in the gents toilets and yelling 'Constant Vigilance!' under the cubicle doors, you should be fine."

His eyes twinkled a little at Tonks's look of horror, even as she giggled into her hand.

"You can't be serious."

"I wish I wasn't; some of the men are afraid to use the loo anymore."

Tonks was extremely glad Moody had not been born a woman. Lupin returned to his scroll, a smile still playing about his lips, and Tonks felt her heart pound against her chest. This could be it, her opportunity to prove to him once and for all that he could trust her. She took a deep breath.

"Since I'm now free for the morning, sir, I was wondering if you needed help with anything? You know, with paperwork or – or anything, really. I'm all yours."

Lupin stared at her for a long moment, looking unnecessarily surprised. Perhaps he didn't function well on zero sleep? She could sympathise with that; the week before her NEWT examinations, Tonks had been like a mother dragon – unpredictable and fairly vicious.

Finally, Lupin seemed to sort his thoughts out. Whatever he had been planning to say was quickly lost, though – his eyes shifted to look at something over her head, and instead he said: "Good morning, Mr Tonks."

Tonks spun around to see her father walking towards them, dressed in his green healer's robes.

"Dad? What are you doing here? Is it Mum – is she okay?"

"She's fine, Dora," Ted said, giving her arm a squeeze. "I'm here on business." He turned to Lupin. "I'm looking for Auror Jamieson?"

"Down the hall and around the corner, fourth door on your left."

"Thank you."

"Well, I must get on." Lupin dropped his gaze to Tonks's. "Thank you for the offer, Tonks, but I'll merely be conducting interviews all morning. Rickburn might need help though; he has quite a caseload at the moment."

He seemed genuine, so Tonks tried not to feel too disappointed. "Of course, sir."

Lupin gave her a swift smile and offered his hand to her father. "Nice to see you again, Mr Tonks. Thank you again for your help yesterday."

"Not at all. And it's Ted, please. We'll be seeing a lot more of each other from now on."

"Will we?"

Ted's eyes flickered to Tonks, before he said: "I've just been assigned as one of the new St. Mungo's liaisons to the Auror squad."

Lupin looked about as shocked as Tonks felt, although he probably wasn't half as furious.

"You're _what_?" she said.

Lupin muttered something about being late and vanished quickly down the corridor.

"Now, before you say anything, Dora –"

"There's nothing to say, because you're not going to do this."

"I've already agreed to it. Every healer in my department is supposed to do a stint with the Auror squad. I'm the only one who's never done it before."

"And you decide that now is the perfect time? When your daughter starts working here? How convenient!"

"It's really not a big deal," Ted said, folding his arms.

"Of course it's a big deal – people are going to think I need my daddy to come to work with me!"

"They won't think that. Besides, I'll only be here a few days a week – you'll hardly know I'm here."

Tonks stared at him in disbelief. "Dad, this is the worst thing you could possibly have done. I can't believe you!"

As she listened to the various flimsy reasons her father gave as to why it was now his turn with the squad, Tonks felt she would rather have taken MacDermott's exam after all.

(-)(-)(-)

"Bloody hell," Remus muttered, joining Proudfoot outside Interview Four.

"What's up?" she said, chewing a quill as she flicked through several scrolls.

"Tonks's father is our new department healer."

Proudfoot's head shot up and the quill fell from her mouth. "Are you serious? Is she pissed?"

"She didn't seem overly pleased."

"Well, of course not; I wouldn't want my dad coming to work with me either." Proudfoot narrowed her eyes. "_You_ don't seem overly pleased either."

Remus shrugged and stared into the interview room, where the blonde wizard was sitting, chained to the table. He hadn't slept a wink all night and felt as though he had been run over by the Hogwarts Express, more than once. Molly had fussed over him when he had returned to The Burrow late, after all the kids had gone to bed, force-feeding him supper while Arthur finished healing his arm. Molly had even made up a bed for him on the sofa, but he had simply stared at the ceiling all night, until the soft fingers of dawn crept under the curtains.

He hadn't 'seen' Lily in years. After the war, she had appeared to him a lot, offering advice or chastising him for not taking care of himself properly. But as he started putting his life back together, he had tried to push her to the back of his mind and focus on the future – on living again. And then one day, he asked her to leave, and she listened. He hadn't seen her since.

Years later, he realised that she had never really been there; that it was probably his mind's way of coping with the trauma of her death, as well as James and Peter's. And even though he still missed her terribly, seeing her would only make him feel worse.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he turned to Proudfoot. "Did you find a name for this guy?"

"Nope. No record of him on file, and he wasn't carrying any sort of ID."

"I'll contact Minerva McGonagall later, see if she remembers him from Hogwarts. He can't have graduated that long ago."

Proudfoot gave a nod of approval and led the way into the interview room.

"Well, well," the blonde wizard said, as they sat down. "The gang's all here."

"You've been made aware of your rights, Mister –?"

"They call me Shaz. And yeah, I know all my rights."

"Well then, Mister Shaz," Remus said, as Proudfoot snorted, "You are declining to have a legal representative present at this time?"

Shaz gave a bored shrug. "I don't need some stiff-shirt telling me things I already know."

"Very well. You said that 'they' call you Shaz. Who are 'they,' exactly?"

Shaz smirked and leaned back his chair. "Oh, everyone and anyone, I expect."

"You should probably take this more seriously," Proudfoot said. "You're currently being charged with possession of counterfeit potions, the assault of an Auror and –"

"Aw, I didn't hurt your feelings did I, Lupin?" Shaz drawled. "Making you crawl around on your belly like a dog in that dirty pub."

"Oh, don't worry about me," Remus replied, "I wasn't the one taken down by a carpet."

Shaz's smug expression flickered and quickly slid back into place, but not before Remus saw a hint of fury on his face. The blonde didn't take well to being mocked – they could work with that.

"Is that the first time you've used a room's furnishings to outwit someone, Remus?" Proudfoot said, clearing thinking along the same lines.

"Now that you mention it, I do believe I caught the Acton Alchemist with a pair of drapes."

"Yeah, it really was _curtains_ for that guy in the end."

"Well, it was his own fault for _hanging_ around."

Shaz's face was growing redder by the second, but he kept his smile firmly in place. Remus started to feel uneasy, although he wasn't quite sure why. Something about the wizard was off…

"Who was that young lady that was with you last night?" Shaz asked, suddenly. "The one with the pink hair? I'd very much like to make her acquaintance."

"I'm afraid I don't know who you mean," Remus said, "Now, as to why we're all here –"

"Of course you know who I mean," Shaz continued, "Fresh-faced, barely legal I'd imagine. Nice tits on her, too."

Remus simply stared back at the wizard, although he wanted nothing more than to slam him into a nearby wall. Next to him, Proudfoot clenched her fists under the table.

"You're involved in the counterfeit potions ring we've been investigating," she said, her voice steady.

"Am I? I'm not sure how you came to that conclusion. As far as I can tell, you and your boys surrounded my friends and me while we were drinking at our local watering hole. Of course, we had to defend ourselves."

"Odd collection of friends you have," Remus said.

Shaz grinned. "What can I say – I'm a welcoming sort of bloke. And except for the two flagons of potion I was carrying – which I can assure you, I had _no_ idea were fake – you've got no proof of anything else."

"We've got ten other wizards in custody who are falling over themselves to incriminate you."

"No, you don't. They won't say a word."

He was right; none of the others had spoken a single word, merely sat in silence as they waited for legal representation. But how could he have possibly known that?

"So," Shaz continued, "failing a reputable witness, I do believe your case will fall apart."

"Is that so?" Proudfoot said, "Well, we've just been handed a court order to retain you, regardless. The potions we confiscated from your possession last night mean we can hold you here for the next twenty-eight days without charging you. So, I suggest you consider cooperating with us. And I promise you, the Ministry holding cells are no fun – they don't even let you have dessert."

Strangely, the blonde man smirked. "That's fine; I'm not a dessert man anyway."

That was not a normal reaction; even the holding wizard in the corner looked taken aback. Proudfoot raised her eyebrows at Remus, as if to question if Shaz was mentally well.

"You are aware of what we just told you?" Remus said, "You'll be held here for the next month, without parole."

"Yes yes," Shaz said, kicking off his shoes and stretching his legs. "Can someone find me a cell, then? I'm knackered."

The young man yawned widely and Remus was suddenly seized with dread. His heart began to pound, as his mind told him what his body had known all along.

The man across the table was a werewolf.

* * *

**AN:** Uh-oh! Two werewolves, one room – how will this end? Tune in next time to find out ;)


End file.
